Meeting of the Miles
by Tabitha12
Summary: By Mary and Amanda. Captain Daniel Gregg meets his OTHER double... A GAMM From This Day On Universe & Knight Rider Crossover. Oh, not that it is vital to the plot, but neither April or KR 2000 ever happened. Why? Because we say so. Please R & R


_**This is a work of fiction. No profit is made in the telling of this tale, it is written purely for enjoyment, and the enjoyment of GAMM fans, wherever they may be.**_

_**The Ghost and Mrs. Muir belong to Josephine Leslie (a.k.a. R.A. Dick) Twentieth Century Fox, ABC and NBC. Sean, Molly, Dash, Lynne, Adam, Jess, Sig, Bron, Blackie, Bree, Barnaby and the rest of the non-canon characters in the From This Day On Universe belong to Amanda and Mary.**_

_**Knight Rider, Devon Miles, KITT, Michael Knight, and any other KR characters mentioned belong to Glen Larson and Universal Studios.**_

_**Anything else heard or quoted in this story belong to their author.**_

_**Thanks to those that helped with research and/or made suggestions along the way, including Kathy and a BIG thank you to Krista, our Knight Rider expert!**_

**Meeting of the Miles**

Mary and Amanda

_**"Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye..." ——— H Jackson Brown, Jr.**_

**March 18, 1983**

"You know, if I wasn't a spirit, I do believe I would... call someone, and say I was too tired to attend this Captain's Only Spectral Fraternity meeting today," Daniel Gregg frowned slightly as he regarded his wife, seated at the work desk in the Master Cabin of Gull Cottage. "I am not overly thrilled about going and leaving you working here alone today."

Carolyn looked up from where she was working to regard him thoughtfully. "Are you saying that because you will miss the Irish Fair, because such meetings are boring, or because you will miss me?" she smiled. "Truthfully, Daniel, I would not be very good company today. I have this deadline..."

Her husband nodded. "Miss you, my love, first, and foremost, of course. I know, about the deadline, naturally. I must say, they certainly didn't give you very much of an opportunity to complete it," he frowned. "You usually have more time for such things."

"I know," Carolyn sighed. "But I don't like turning down _Redbook. _They've been on a traditional kick lately, and a collection of sayings and reflections from one hundred years ago seemed to fill the requirements they stated. I really didn't think they would take to the idea I presented to them — a collection of proverbs and witticisms from your Aunt Violet and our new friend, Jim Brett's, 'pappy'." She sighed. "My, he had a bunch of them! And you were on a roll, too, once you started remembering some of the ones your aunt came up with! I wish I had known her, Daniel."

"You would have liked her, and she you," the ghost smiled back at his wife. "I realize more now, as I was remembering some of the things she used to tell me, and her stories, just how much she did manage to contribute to my early years. More than I knew at the time, anyway." The spirit came closer to her chair, placed two warm hands on Carolyn's shoulders and rubbed them gently in a massaging motion. "You work too hard. I could stay, and..."

"You'll do no such thing," Carolyn scolded as she tipped back in her chair and regarded her handsome husband upside down. "You are looking for excuses not to go, and you know it, Daniel Gregg. I will always need your help, my love, but not this morning. I really need to plow through this by myself."

"Well, you can't blame me for trying," the seaman chuckled as he leaned over and gave his wife a lingering kiss, and then pulled away, but only slightly. "I'm really not one for meetings, but this one is semi-obligatory, so I suppose I must. I do see why Tris avoids them in general — but don't tell him I said that. And I must say that I envy the other spirits in our clan. None of them are Captains, so they get off scott-free."

"I won't," Carolyn smiled, reaching up with both hands and kissing him again. Then, with a small sigh, she took another breath, straightened up in her chair, and regarded the paper in her typewriter instead of her good-looking husband. "And I wish I could let this go, but I can't. I would appreciate..." she added, looking up at Daniel once more, "...if you could allow enough time sometime today to give it a final proofreading before I throw it in the mail on Saturday."

The seaman looked surprised. "Darling, you hardly need my help with ordinary things like this... double-checking seaman's terms, or facts from the 1800's, yes, but I almost never find any typos OR misspellings in your finished product."

His wife shook her head. "I always need your help, and oh, yes, I do. I know I do! — My typing, anyway! When I goof, my mind KNOWS what the word or words should be, so it fills in what I EXPECT to see, and the more I read a piece of copy, the worse it gets. Reading backwards helps with the typos, but not with sentence structure — Missing and repeating words, phrases, and so forth."

"I still say you are underrating yourself, my dear, but if you insist, naturally, I am always willing to be another set of eyes." He leaned over to kiss her once more.

"And such beautiful eyes they are, too," Carolyn murmured. "Keep that up, and neither of us will get anything useful done today."

"Once again, my love, you are correct. Although, I could say keeping this up IS even more useful," Daniel chuckled, pulling away. "Speaking of which, what is everyone doing today? If by some remote chance the meeting ends early, I might pop into town and see what is going on before I come back here for you."

"Sounds like a good idea," Carolyn nodded. "My deadline could vary just a tad. What is everyone doing? Pretty much what you would expect for such an affair, I guess."

"Same sort of thing as on Centennial Day, but with an Irish feel?" Daniel queried. "You know, I was glad we could all attend Blackie's St. Patrick's Day service yesterday. It's been a bit since I attended a weekday service." He gave her a fond look. "And I think it is marvelous that the entire town of Schooner Bay, decked out for the festivities, matches the color of my wife's beautiful eyes!"

"And that, Sir, is a very sweet thing to say," Carolyn gazed at him, her face glowing.

"My dear woman, how many times must I tell you that I am not..."

"...Sweet, I know, and you can tell me as many times as you like. I happen to know it isn't true. You are so. You are also a one-of-a-kind, Daniel Gregg," she added softly.

"I'll let you get by with that remark — this time," Daniel grinned, but then his face turned sober. "I can't say that I like being on the spectral plane and totally out of touch with you, first and foremost, and with the rest of my crew, though."

"You are still looking for excuses," Carolyn laughed lightly. "If I need you, Sean, Dash, and Tris — for that matter, Molly, Bron, and Sig will know how to find you. And I told you, I'll be busy until 

three, at least, and by then you will be home, and we can go to dinner and the boat show together this evening."

"I suppose so. Been blasted easier if I had to do the final proofing and put the SBB to bed today instead of Wednesday. I'd have a good excuse not to be at the meeting today. But I suppose it is something that we will get to see at least some of the festivities this evening. Jonathan couldn't make it home at all. Sometimes I worry that the lad is working himself too hard at school."

"Just trying to do well," Carolyn smiled. "Jon knows what he is capable of, and just wants to do his best. I think Bethany is still tutoring him, just a tad, in English, and his other subjects are demanding. Summer break is just around the corner. Jon told me Bethany is looking for a summer internship. I hope she finds something. Oh, and I DO think he'll want to at least come down and visit by the time Jess delivers at the end of May."

Ever a touch on the old-fashioned side, even after one-hundred and thirteen years since his death, the seaman looked just a tad uncomfortable when the subject of childbirth was mentioned.

"You haven't answered my question," he interjected smoothly. "I never did get it entirely straight. Where is and what is everyone in my crew doing today?"

"Oh! Well, Lynne and Doctor Anderson, and maybe one other doctor will be in town doing first aid shifts. Lynne is on the morning shift so she and Dash can be at the events this evening. Thom's helping her, if he doesn't have to work. I don't THINK he has to." She smiled. "I believe Dash will be flitting down her way a bit, and then, of course he and Bree will be manning the Dashire Foundation booth. Sig is in his element — James and Helen Wight have a booth set up for the Vet Clinic, sort of a combination thing. They'll be handing out literature and taking donations, and there'll be some dogs and cats up for adoption. The adopter can be interviewed right there. Kids can play with the animals — under supervision, of course. Anyway, he'll be helping at the vet's booth and with the pony rides, along with Mr. Gordon, the stable owner."

"Definitely in his element," Daniel agreed. "And...?"

"And, Blackie, and at least one other person, will be manning the booth for the church. I understand the ladies have come up with tons of Irish trinkets and things. You know — plaques, hand-crotchet doilies, baked goods, homemade jewelry with an Irish look, which I suppose means lots of green. I think they will have some literature to hand out, also. He has the early shift, too. Jess and Adam won't be here until eleven-thirty or noon to help with the PTA booth. It's obligatory that she is there for a little while, even if she's pregnant — But Mrs. Post did give her a short shift. Adam will probably stay near Jess, and/or help out with the foundation booth, if summoned."

"Who else?" the Captain queried her. "Claymore — DO tell me he has been tapped for some of these altruistic duties?"

Carolyn nodded. "Oh, yes! He's in charge of the Seaman's Home booth. You know, selling small items the residents have made... passing out literature, accepting donations, we hope."

"Claymore!" Daniel thundered. "Leaving that dithering dimwit in charge of money is..."

"Relax, love," Carolyn put a hand on his arm. "Adam gave Candy the day off, since he is taking the day off, too, and she is 'helping' there. Read that as keeping an eye on him."

"That's my girl!" Daniel smiled complacently. "She'll keep him in line! Who else haven't I mentioned?"

"Well, Ed will be over in the Chamber of Commerce area with Norrie, Harv, and Abner. Bree's in charge of the Dashire Foundation booth. She designed it this year. It looks great! Sean, Molly, Martha, Dave, and Tris are responsible for the music, in shifts — there is a stage, a platform set up, and Tris is also trying something new — he's doing a wandering troubadour thing with his guitar, 

singing traditional Irish tunes, and some newer stuff — ballads, you know. Written in the last fifteen years, but with an old feel. Anything he collects that way benefits the Dashire Foundation."

"He told me that was what he wanted to do," Daniel nodded. "I've heard a few of the songs. They aren't bad at all. Some of them rather remind me of the sort of thing Tim Seagirt sings. Quite nice."

"Have you told him that, Daniel?"

"No, not in so many words, no." Daniel reached up to tug his right ear. "I suppose I should..."

"Yes, you should. You are, after all, still his Captain. He needs to know when he has done something that pleases his C.O."

"I'll try and remember. Tris has improved tremendously in the last thirteen years, in many ways." The seaman's face looked somber for a moment as he gazed at an earlier picture of Candy that still had a place on their big work desk.

Seeing the look on her husband's face, Carolyn continued hurriedly. "That's it, I think. Jenny and Amberly, Barnaby, Bronwyn, and Dash, sometimes, are just going to wander and enjoy the day."

"Which is something WE should be doing, too," Daniel grumbled slightly.

"Which we WILL be doing as soon as we both get our respective assignments done," Carolyn interrupted, giving her husband one more kiss and turning back to her typewriter, where she inserted a fresh piece of paper. "Daniel, you are going to be late, even if you are on a different time and space plane. The sooner you go, the sooner you get back and the quicker we can have a nice evening. Now... poof, transmat, whatever. I'll be right here when you are done, ready for our evening."

"Very well, my dear," the spirit replied, lovingly. Giving the Lady of Gull Cottage one more kiss that lasted only a moment longer than it should, he dematerialized, the taste of her still on his lips and a smile on his face.

XXX

"I don't see why we have to pick up Devon in Concord before going to Bangor," Michael Knight grumbled.

"Because those were his orders," KITT, the voice of the Knight Industries Two Thousand, informed its pilot. "He feels that he needs to attend the trial with you."

Michael grimaced. "Yeah, well you know, I have testified in court cases before. I was a cop in my last life. I don't need a baby-sitter."

"So you have told me twelve times since we left Virginia," the car's dry voice acknowledged.

"Not twelve, maybe — three. I might have repeated myself THREE times," Michael argued, thumping the steering while for emphasis.

"My records are accurate. I could replay each instance, if you like, however, we are almost to Devon's hotel. I do not believe it would be polite if that particular recording was playing when he gets inside me."

"And he probably won't like it if I put on Queen or Sting, either," Michael scowled.

"No, those are not among Devon's preferred musical selections," the car agreed.

"Do we have time for one more song?" Michael tried.

"We will be at the Regency in two minutes and eight seconds," KITT matter-of-factly calculated. "Unless traffic slows down, that is. I believe the shortest song in the play list is two minutes and fifty-seven-point-four seconds."

"You could have just said 'no,' " Michael said.

"I just did."

KITT's estimation was only slightly off; traffic was smoother than anticipated, and they reached the hotel in just under two minutes. Devon Miles was waiting.

"Right on time, I see," the handsome, older man smiled pleasantly.

"Actually, we were ten seconds early," the car corrected.

"Even better," Devon nodded as he maneuvered his long frame into the sports car, wincing just a bit. Not for the first time he wondered why Wilton Knight couldn't have put KITT's brains into something roomier. Then, he took a look at Michael's attire. "You aren't going to court in _that_, are you?"

Michael glanced down at his usual leather jacket, jeans, and tee shirt. "It's clean."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Devon debated whether or not they had time to stop at a clothier and pick up something more suitable. Before he could ask KITT to arrange a side trip, Michael said, "Relax, Devon. I've got a suit in the trunk. I'll change before I'm called to testify."

"It is appropriate," KITT added. "I saw it."

"Thank-you, KITT," Devon sighed.

Tense silence reigned until Devon asked Michael to tell him about the latest case. The younger man's reply was terse, giving nothing more than the facts.

"Is something the matter, Michael?" Devon asked. "Did anything go — badly, or —?"

"Everything went fine. KITT and I are a good team," Michael answered. "I know my job."

"Of course," Devon nodded.

"Then why do you feel the need to come along and baby-sit me? You know, I was Michael Long and a darn good cop for a long time before you and Wilton Knight turned me into Michael Knight. I had to testify in court every few months, at least. I know how to behave."

"You are representing FLAG and Knight Industries now. That calls for a degree of dignity that the average 'cop' does not require," Devon retorted.

"Hold on. I can be dignified. Just not uptight, like SOME people," Michael shot back. "When have I let FLAG or Knight Industries down?"

Devon's lips tightened. "Never," he allowed. "But this is just not the same as testifying as an officer of the law." He sighed. "Let's not argue. I'm along for the trip. Turning around to take me back to Concord would make you late, unless KITT risked a speeding ticket."

"Fine," Michael frowned. There was a pause, and then he decided he might as well make conversation. "So, did the foundation business go well?"

"Quite. It was almost worth missing the celebrations yesterday."

"What celebrations?" Michael's curiosity overrode his irritation.

"Yesterday was Saint Patrick's Day. There is always a good Irish festival back home — Music, dancing, and so on. I rather enjoy it." Devon lifted his shoulders, partly in a shrug of acceptance and regret, partly to try and get more comfortable in the cramped seat. "There's always next year."

"Irish music? Jigs and all that? You?" Michael laughed. "I pictured you more for that longhair stuff. Bach, Mozart."

"I'm quite fond of those as well, but I do like some less — refined music, at times," Devon nodded, shifting again.

"Oh? Well, maybe this drive would go better with a little less refined music," Michael grinned. "KITT, program 754."

"Michael, I do not think that Program 754 is quite what Devon had in mind," KITT protested.

"Well, how about 178?"

"Not that!"

"Eight—"

"Absolutely not." If KITT had possessed a face, it would have scowled. "There is absolutely nothing in my music banks that Mr. Miles would find entertaining."

"C'mon, Dev, tell him. You wouldn't mind a little Queen or the Who! They're _classics_," the pilot urged.

Devon's brows lifted. "I do not believe we define classic in the same way."

"Okay, we'll forget the music," Michael shook his head.

More time passed. KITT's monitors continually checked on the health and comfort of his passengers. Fifty miles from their destination, his voice interrupted the polite conversation the two men were attempting to have.

"Devon, my monitors detect that your back muscles, particularly in the shoulder area, are inflamed. Your vital signs all indicate you are in a great deal of discomfort. Perhaps it would be better if you took Michael's advice and let him testify unsupervised."

"And what do you propose doing with me? I will be far less comfortable dumped on the side of the road," Devon asked in a slightly acid tone.

"Devon, you work hard. Why not take the rest of today off?" Michael suggested. "I'm sure we could find something that would be relaxing and interesting. Like — ah—"

"The Schooner Bay First Annual Irish Festival March 18 - 19," KITT filled in. "The signs began appearing one mile back. Neither of you noticed?" There was a smug note in the AI's voice.

"Excellent suggestion," Michael beamed. "KITT, would it take us out of the way to drop Devon off at this Schooner Bay place?"

"We will pass right through it if we continue on this route."

"See. It's — karma," Michael nodded. "You missed the Irish stuff back home, this appears in our path. KITT, take us to Schooner Bay."

"Michael, really, I must protest," Devon shook his head.

"No, you must not. It'll be good for you," Michael insisted. "You forced me to take a vacation a while back, now I am doing what you did."I'll prove I can testify on my own to you, and you'll prove you can relax to me."

"Besides, it's a closed courtroom," KITT reminded Devon. "You would not be allowed inside."

"Very well. I am perfectly capable of relaxing," Devon grumbled.

"Good. Then you'll have a great time."

Before too long, the black Trans-Am pulled into a small town.

"Here we are, Schooner Bay. Looks like a bucket of green paint exploded," Michael observed easily. "And, I hear music."

Despite himself, Devon had to admit the strains of music sounded quite good. Adjusting his wraparound sunglasses, the older man stepped out of the car. "What time will you return?"

"Four or five," Michael replied with a wave. "Have fun."

Devon watched KITT leave, and then turned to look things over.

"Great car, Mr. Miles," a tall young man called out, waving with his unbroken arm somewhat awkwardly.

"Er — thanks," Devon automatically responded, blinking behind the dark lenses. That was odd. He continued to walk down the main street, trying to decide where to begin.

"Mornin', Mr. Miles," a balding, slightly pudgy older man beamed from in front of a building with the words 'Norrie's Lobster House' written across its sign.

Smiling uncertainly, Devon nodded. "Good morning." _This was certainly a friendly town, but how the blazes does everyone know my name? _Pondering this mystery, he continued on his path, not seeing the next resident's approach until a very firm, solid hand clapped him on the shoulder. Startled, he looked up to see a bearded, beaming man in jeans and a green pullover standing before him.

"So, you got out of the meeting early, or is it all together? Don't blame you a bit, old son, if that's the case," the gentleman laughed in a very cultured, British voice. The stranger gave him an assessing look. "Sunglasses! Nice touch. I'll have to remember that. But, it's good to see my taste is finally influencing someone." Devon mentally compared their two outfits and did not see how that was possible. "However, aren't you rather overdressed? That's usually the case with me, but my dear doctor has tried to give me lessons on how to be casual. Still, that's a blasted fine suit, old son. Which magazine did you find it in? Always on the look out for new ideas, you know." His grin widened and he winked. "I'll find a place to take Lynne so I can wear it." He glanced around. "If you want to pop over somewhere and change into something else, I'll keep a lookout for you."

Devon drew back slightly. "I am quite happy with my attire, sir, and I did not get this from a magazine, but from Beau Brummel." Somewhat disdainfully, he adjusted his shirt cuffs.

"IS he still around? I had no idea. Was he a captain?" the stranger looked flummoxed. "Interesting. Don't tell Jess that. She'll be after you to fetch him." Shaking his head, the fellow shrugged. "Ah well. I think I'll go make sure my lovely wife isn't getting too bored. See you later, old son."

The other man ambled off. Devon silently resolved, _"Not if I see you first, OLD SON." Polite was one thing, but this excessive familiarity was quite another! And what odd comments! The original Brummel was long dead. _

XXX

Still bemused at the bearded man's comments, Devon stopped at a rack that held a map of the town square that diagramed what vendor's booths were where. _For such a small town, they certainly have gone all out,_ he thought, lifting a rock, decorated to look like Ireland's Blarney Stone that held the stacked maps in place. Smiling, he dropped a coin into a slot that said: "Donations benefit Schooner Bay's Animal Relief Fund." After opening it and getting an idea of which end of town he was on, he headed toward the area marked on the map as FOOD COURT. Something cold to drink was in order... that is if the smells of corned beef, barbecued ribs, turkey legs, pulled pork, as well as plain hot dogs and hamburgers didn't do him in — heavens, it wasn't even noon yet, but the aromas in the air made his mouth water.

Spying a sign that said COLD DRINKS AND ICE CREAM, he made his way toward it, stopping several times to regard some of the vendor's booths on his way. One was selling flower garlands, which would be just the thing to bring back for Bonnie Barstow, FLAG's chief mechanic, and another offered old china and Depression glass pieces, primarily green, or with shamrock motifs. Stopping, he picked up a small Belleek vase, and, waiting for the clerk to finish with the customer in front of him.

"What are you asking for this piece?" he inquired.

"Marked at twenty, but seein' it's you, I'll take fifteen," Stanley Tuttle replied. "Grandpa'd kill me, but I just can't overcharge nice folks," he grinned. "I save that for visitors and tourists."

Shrugging, but knowing a good deal when he saw it, Devon pulled out a fifty-dollar bill.

"Can you break this? You're my first stop of the day and I don't have anything smaller, except a little pocket change."

"Sure!" the young man's eyes lit up. "Guess you got to come into town first and scout out the best deals before the rest of the family, huh?" Smiling, he took the bill from Devon's outstretched hand, and the vase from the counter, and started wrapping it up.

"Do you have a bag for that?" Devon asked. "I'll be here most of the day, and I have more purchases I might make."

"Might?" A puzzled look crossed Stanley's face. "I certainly hope so! Millie Applegate is sellin' paper bags with handles over to the bookshop. But hey, you get too tired of carrying things, you can always park them at the SBB and pick them up later. Here's your change, now, and here's your vase. Betcha the missus will like it." The antique dealer started to turn away at that point. "You have a good day with the family, now. May I help you, Mrs. Co — Ms. Sharpe?"

Nodding, once again mystified at the man's remarks, Devon Miles stepped away from the booth and continued toward the cold drink stand. _SBB?_

Margaret Coburn stared after him. "Well, that's a fine 'How do you do' when Daniel Miles can't be bothered to say hello and good morning! I wonder what's bothering him?"

"Dunno," Stanley replied. "Looked fine to me. Betcha he was meeting Mrs. Miles somewhere."

"I suppose," Margaret sniffed. "Still, saying hello never hurt anyone."

After purchasing lemonade in a covered cup for a small amount, Devon continued his trek to the book tent, pausing once to admire the ribbon dancers in the distance. The sign they were performing in front of saying they were from the high school, _They look as good as anything I might have missed in the parade yesterday_, Devon thought, and idly, he made a mental note to drop a little something in their donation can before the day was out. They certainly deserved it for the show they were putting on. Finally, he reached the bookstall, thankful to put his small purchase down for a moment. He took a long swallow from his lemonade while he waited for the redheaded woman behind the counter to finish with the customer standing there."It seems to me that the prices would be lower for the fair," a middle-aged woman sniffed. "We aren't all MADE of money you know! This book is..."

"This book only came off the best seller list last month, Jane," the clerk replied. "And it's still brand new. Thirty percent off is the best I can do. I thought you didn't like the_ Radcliffe_ books?"

"I don't, but my grandchild does," Jane sniffed. "I'll take it, but I won't be back in YOUR bookshop for a while! Not until the prices come down!"

"That's your choice, Jane," the other woman smiled pleasantly as she gave the woman her change and put the book in a small bag. "Have a nice day at the fair, hear?"

"Hrumph," the other woman answered, and without a goodbye, she turned on her heel and started to leave the shop. When she saw Devon, she gave him a cold look. _"Lots_of folks' books are way-overpriced around here!" With that, she started toward the craft booth across the way.

"Don't you pay her any mind," Millie grinned. "You know Jane — always after something for nothing when she thinks she can get away with it, but, boy, if she wants something for herself or her precious boys, she'll jump over the moon to get it! Of course, you know all about that! What can I get for you today? See anything you like?"

"Um, yes..." Devon Miles answered absently, wondering what the woman meant. "I understand you have bags here — big enough to carry a number of packages?"

"Oh, sure! Long as you don't go buying anything really heavy, but it should be enough to handle a fair amount — and you can always come back and get another one if you need it." Millie held out a brightly colored bag by the handles, and Devon placed the box with the Belleek and the map of the square inside of it. "Anything else? Like to browse a bit?"

"I might," Devon nodded. "You seem to have quite a selection here."

"Thanks," Millie answered, and blushed a bit. "I've tried. Running a book store is way different from my last job — I think I had more time to read when I did that, than I do now!"

"Oh?" Devon's eyebrows went up. "What was your last job?"

"Uh... telephone operator..." the woman answered, puzzled. "You know, for the area, until everything went to direct dial. My job got kinda phased out. A good thing I was able to save my money and buy out Mr. Abacrombie when he retired and moved to Florida." She put the bag on the counter and watched Devon's tall figure move around the booth.

"This one looks fascinating," Devon said, picking up a fair-sized volume with a bearded sea captain on the front. "Memoirs, eh?" Opening the book, he started to read the flyleaf_. "Memoirs of a Sea Captain..._ Hmm… Muir..."

"I thought you might notice that," the redhead grinned. "I was cleaning out the storeroom the other day and found the book. First printing, I think! Been here since my predecessor's day! Can you believe it? More than ten years old, and still in great shape! Of course you have no need of that one!"

"Who says I don't?" Devon snapped slightly as he closed the volume and placed it on the counter. "No one tells ME what I would like, or not like, my good woman. This book looks fascinating, and I want it. How much?"

"Uhm... well..." Millie hesitated, looking confused. "I guess YOU would think it was interesting. Okay, new it was seven ninety-five... It's still in perfect shape and it IS a first printing — completely unmarked, so would fifteen dollars even be all right?"

"Fine," Devon nodded. "What do I owe you for the bag the book, and this bookmarker?"

"The bag is free because you bought the book," she answered. "Still have to charge tax, on the other stuff though, even if this is a fair, so that's eighteen fifty, all together," she answered, placing the book in the bottom of the bag next to the vase.

"Here's twenty," Devon answered, peeling back another bill. "Keep the change." Taking the bag, he started toward the exit.

"Gee, thanks, Mr. Miles!" Millie said, as he stepped into the main road once again. "I haven't been tipped since I used to part-time waitress at Norrie's!"

"You're welcome," he answered, his tall strides taking him further down the throughway. It wasn't until he was three booths away and in front of a jewelry exhibit before he realized that the woman had called him by name.

XXX

Devon managed to visit a table selling various Irish themed crafts and selected a pair of hammered silver earrings for Bonnie Barstow without any confounding remarks being made, then veered away from a table of tempting baked goods when he saw the bearded chap there perusing the decadent, chocolate offerings with great interest. His path then carried him toward a booth purporting to represent an Old Seaman's home. Various nautical crafts were on display. The lanky, bald man behind the desk was nervously shuffling items around, as if trying to optimize them for better viewing.

"Well, what have we here?" Devon asked amiably, smiling behind his shades.

The tall man looked up, then when his gaze landed on Devon, his eyes got wide and he made a choking noise. "Erk-y-y-you know very well that this is the Old Seaman's Home Booth." He directed a glare at Devon that was half-hostile and half-terrified. "Candy won't be here until Adam shows up to help Bree, if you're looking for her."

This was perhaps the most unusual reaction Devon had gotten on this very strange day. The fellow had seemed edgy before, it might just be he. Curiously, he picked up a business card that read _Schooner Bay Real Estate Services, Claymore Gregg, Proprietor. _A phone number was listed.

The man, presumably Claymore Gregg, made that odd little noise again and reached for the cards. "I — I didn't think yo — er — anyone would really mind if I just had these out and a-ah-available. I'm not pro-pro-moting ME. Just being — er — making most of the opportunity, since I took today off of work — and I have been donating a — a lot of stuff lately. So, just trying to make a little back. But, I could stow them."

Devon arched his brows. "Why would you do that? They certainly aren't interfering with the literature on the — what is it — Seaman's Home? Wise of you to make the most of your opportunity." So saying, he tucked a card into his pocket.

Claymore blinked and adjusted his glasses. "R-really? You mean it? You aren't mad?"

Devon wasn't sure whether to laugh or be irritated. "Of course not. Carry on. I wish you luck on this endeavor. Both of them." Stuffing a bill in the box marked 'donations' and giving a nod, he left the stunned fellow staring after him.

Devon wondered who Candy was, and why he would be looking for her. Pondering that and the other puzzling way people were acting here was making the tension KITT had been concerned about him feeling return. Wondering if there was anything besides green beer or lemonade around, he noticed that some of the music was coming closer.

A young man strolled down the road, strumming a guitar and singing. After a moment, Devon identified the song as _Catch the Wind. _Some of the tightness began to ease out of him. Whoever this boy was, he was quite talented. As he drew near to the minstrel, Devon proffered a folded bill. _Like as not, the fellow is performing for some charitable function, _he reasoned.

A grin blossomed on the young man's face. Winking, he whispered, "Thanks, Captain," as the song concluded.

Something about the smile was infectious. Shaking his head, Devon said, "Sorry, you've got the rank wrong, lad." The thought flickered in his mind that there were certainly a lot of Englishmen here. First the would-be dandy in blue jeans, now this young fellow.

The singer did a good impression of Devon's own brow raising. "Oh? Well, you'll have to take it up with herself if you want to be Admiral. Of course, most of the admirals _we've_ met put me off the whole idea of rank, eh?"

"What on earth do you mean?" Devon frowned. "I was simply complimenting your singing, and you go getting cheeky."

"You normally like my sense of humor, sir," a puzzled expression replaced the happiness on his face.

"I have no idea how you would come to that conclusion," Devon growled.

"I — I've been on my best behavior, of late anyway," the younger man said in a very quiet, almost hurt tone.

"I only know what you are doing now. I suggest you stick to your music. It is quite acceptable," Devon frowned.

Adjusting his instrument, the young man drew himself up to military straightness, lifted his chin, and gave a mocking salute. "Certainly, sir. Absolutely." On that note, he moved away, beginning the bars of _McPherson's Rant_, angrily.

If Devon had watched, he would have seen Tristan suddenly come to a stop, frown in confusion, and glance back at him, then toward the harbor, anxiously. He would have then seen him dodge into an alley where he pulled up his sleeve and concentrated a moment. Then, when his watch vanished and 

reappeared, a sigh of relief escaped his lips. "Nope, no Vultures," he whispered, and walked back onto the street to begin playing again.

XXX

Devon moved through the crowds, smiling at people who smiled or waved at him like a friend, and frowning when someone greeted him by name. Absently he looked down at the lapel of his still immaculate suit jacket. _No — I didn't leave my FLAG I.D. badge on... how the devil do they..._? His thoughts were interrupted as he found himself next to the Schooner Bay's Animal Relief tent — the cause he had donated to as he had arrived. Inside the large area were two wooden pens, one for dogs, mostly smaller breeds, and another for cats. Large fans kept the animals cool, necessary even outside, and the appealing animals were surrounded by children, eager to play with, or adopt the herd.

"Looking for a pet?" Jim Wight, the town's vet smiled at the newcomer and winked.

"Not today," Devon smiled back, gazing at the cats and kittens and the two little girls inside the pen that were playing with them. "A cat is quite tempting, actually, but not with my schedule. I'm not sure I could give one of these appealing animals the attention they deserve."

Jim nodded. "Yeah, I guess you ARE fairly busy, what with writing, your work, and all that," he answered, knowing that the Miles', the Avery-Dashire, and O'Casey group had been running the SBB for more than two months. "You're doing a great job, there, too, so I guess it's a good thing Dakota handles the home-kits! Say — it's a great day for everyone to be out and about. Where IS Dakota?"

"North or South Dakota? I believe both are out west, somewhere," Devon quipped absently, picking up a lovely Siamese cat from the open feline pen, holding it gently while he stroked it. It purred softly. "Beautiful animal."

"Uh..." the vet looked confused. "Neither. Are DC and Tribble well?"

Now it was Devon's turn to look puzzled. "D.C." is usually in an uproar over something, naturally. As to what a Tribble is, I have no idea." He put the purring cat back down, and another child picked it up, immediately. "Well, good luck with your adoption booth. Blast, a cat would be nice to have around..." Looking sorry, he peeled a ten spot off the roll of bills still in his pocket, stuffed it in the donation jar, and tipped his hat to Jim, as he left.

The vet scratched his head in bewilderment. But... _but they have two cats at home..._ he thought, but was soon interrupted by a small child and her mother, ready with their pet selection.

XXX

Thoughtfully, Devon gave his left earlobe a pull as he considered all the strangeness of the day. _Why would a small town vet ask me about North or South Dakota, Washington D. C. And what was a_ _Tribble? Ah, yes. Mythical animal on that space show Michael insists is a classic. _Lost in thought, he did not realize it was about to get odder until a smiling young woman greeted him.

"Hullo — Uncle, right?" Not waiting for an answer, the young woman continued to chatter in yet another English accent. "I can't find gra — Uncle Charlie anywhere, but the records say you work for the foundation also, so maybe you wouldn't mind letting me run this idea past you? Keeping up with the guys was one thing, but running this foundation and getting it in Bristol fashion is quite a bit more." Taking his stunned expression for a lack of argument, she went on, "I was thinking that perhaps a fund raiser would be good, and this is what I had in mind — a—"

"What th..." he sputtered, wondering what this strange woman had to do with the FLAG Foundation. He stopped speaking and just stared at her.

Bree Montgomery saw the man's look. "Is it a secret!? Sorry! I am still learning, after all. My main focus is getting it running at maximum capacity, ASAP. Well, give me a buzz when you have a 

moment to 'pop' by. I have some ideas, and even if my grandfather has given me a free hand to run things, I'd like some input."

"Input for WHAT, in heaven's name?" he bristled.

"That promotional thing next month," the young woman responded. "I was helping Bron go through the storeroom at the theater a few days ago, and we found these paper lanterns, and she mentioned they used to be used for lawn parties and cotillions a hundred years ago. These weren't THAT old, naturally! They were from something done about thirteen years ago, and they weren't in great shape, but they gave me the idea for an outside cotillion-dance type thing under the stars, and..."

Waving a hand, he cut her off. "My dear young woman, YOU are running the foundation?" Not saying another word, Bree nodded. "And was there a _coupe_ sometime this morning that displaced me? _**I**_ run the Foundation! And may I add, I hardly think a cotillion is in keeping with its mission, young lady. The Foundation exists to fight people who..." Stopping, he gave her a cold look. "I have no idea what you are talking about, but I am still in charge, and I plan on keeping it that way, thank-you VERY much!" He stalked off, leaving a very puzzled Bree behind him.

XXX

The Englishwoman did nothing for a moment but stand in Devon's wake. _Where did I goof? _She wondered. _I need to ask someone... _Seeing the booth for the Presbyterian Church about a block away and knowing Linda Coburn was watching the Dashire Foundation booth while she was supposed to be taking a break, Bree started toward it, only to feel a tap on her shoulder.

"I saw you talking to Mister Miles, there," the young woman she knew to be Penelope Hassenhammer, Hassenpepper, Higgenlooper, or Harglepopper, depending on which of the ghost clan you asked, said. "You know he's _married_, don't you?" She stressed the word.

"Of course," Bree nodded stiffly. "I've met Carolyn Miles, and most of their friends, too, I think."

"Then you probably know who is married to whom, and what other men in town are... shall we say, attached?" She threw a fast glance toward the church booth. "Maybe not! Probably why Mister Miles wanted to get away from you so fast. I've noticed you going out of your way to beg rides from some of the men in town — Mister Miles, Candy's husband, Thom, Lord Dashire... You DID know he just got married..."

"Yes," Bree said grimly. "I did know my... _uncle_ was newly married. Miss Hasspi...hammer, I believe I..."

'Well, I think you should also know the REAL citizens of this town don't think too kindly of people coming in and just — taking over things," Penny sniffed. "Like our pastor. He has more important duties to attend to, I'm sure, than just chauffeur people around... I've noticed you asking him for rides most of all, don't think I haven't! Don't you think he has better things to do? Really now."

"Miss Hassenhammer, I..."

"Still..." Penny went on. "...The men in this town have taste, and can usually spot the man-hungry types. But maybe it would be better if I just said it. I don't think you should bother our Blackie anymore. He's really quite busy with secular matters, and has a career to think of."

Bree's temper blazed, but she stopped short of giving the sallow-faced young woman the slap she deserved.

"The Avery's, Miles', Peavey's, Matthews,' O'Casey's, Miss Tegan, Mr. King, and Reverend O'Ryan are my friends, and Lord Dashire is my gr .. uncle, which makes Linden my aunt. They like me, I believe..." She paused for a fraction of a second, remembering 'Daniel Gregg's' strange response earlier, and continued. "...I like them. And until I hear otherwise, I will continue to associate with whomever I CHOOSE to! Good day, Miss Harglelooper!" Turning on her heel, Bree started walking 

away, then paused and turned back. "One thing. It is far more effective when telling someone off if you use the correct terminology. Blackie's duties are _**non**_-secular, or pastoral." On that, she turned her back on the snip again.

"WELL, I never!" Penny spit out. "Hey! That's HASSENHAMMER!"

"We know!" Quentin Coopersmith said, as he and his date walked past the screaming girl. "We can't forget you, even when we want to!"

XXX

As soon as Penny was out of sight, Bree stopped under a large tree, where she shook for a few moments before finally pulling herself together. Observing Blackie's booth, and the longer line in front, she headed toward its back, and was soon inside.

"Can you use a hand for a minute?" she smiled.

"Could I?" the pastor sounded almost frantic. "Oh, please! Everything is marked... No, Mrs. Wilson, these prices are firm — this isn't a jumble sale..." he interrupted himself. "The change box is there below the counter and..." Another woman was tapping on his arm. "No, Mrs. Jenkins, the silver Celtic crosses are all gone. We still have some of the brass ones, though." He was back smiling at the crowd in front of them. "Welcome! Welcome! Baked goods are this way, small crafts and jewelry are here..." He gave Bree another grateful smile. "Let me know if you need anything, Bree."

"Gotcha," she nodded, and in a matter of ten minutes, the rush was over and the two had a chance to relax for a few moments. Blackie turned to his rescuer.

"I think that's twice that you have saved me now."

"Hmm?"

"Rescuing me from Mrs. Coburn and Mrs. Hippohooper the first week you were here, and again just now from the trampling hordes."

Bree laughed quietly then shrugged one shoulder.

"No big deal. It's not the first time I have had to manage a crowd. Used to happen backstage with the guys, every now and again," she sighed.

"Well, you certainly were my rescuer just now! Who's minding the Dashire Foundation booth?"

"Linda Coburn. She is out and hobbling around, you know, and seemed anxious to be helpful, seeing as how it was partly her doing that caused the recasting and eventual cancellation of_ Picnic_." Bree explained. "So anyway, she was handy. And it's nice to know I am still good for something, too." A cloud came over her face that was quite plain to see.

"Bree?" Blackie frowned. "Useful? Hey, you look... What's the matter? What's wrong?"

"I... I'm not sure I should say," the girl answered, looking almost embarrassed.

"Nonsense. I don't wear a collar, but it is part of my job to listen when someone needs to talk. Especially when that someone is a friend. Now what gives? Promise. Whatever it is, it won't go outside this ro... booth, if you don't want it to, okay? I think you know I'm great with secrets."

"Okay," she nodded, hesitantly. "Well, the thing is, I thought the Captain liked me... But now I think maybe he IS holding Paul and the acting company against me, after all."

Blackie regarded the woman now sitting next to him for a moment, and when he answered, his tone was serious.

"Bree, the Captain is not the type of man to hold a grudge — except, well, maybe against Claymore. I admit that he has done that. But even that has been more bluff the last few years or so. And he did soften in his attitude toward your guys, near the end."

"Then, he COULD be holding..."

Blackie held up a hand as if to intercept her thoughts. "If he was upset with you, he would tell you so. What makes you think he is angry with you?"

"It was about, maybe a half-hour, forty five minutes ago," she admitted after a few moments. "I saw him in the crowd, and came up to him and... He IS on the books as part of Uncle Charlie's foundation, so I wanted to tell him how well it's going over there and about an idea I just had. He looked so startled and then... OFFENDED about what my thought was. As if I had suggested something scandalous. Not only that, he treated me like I was a stranger. Is... Well... everything so undercover that he's not supposed to even _know_ me in public?"

Blackie shook his head. "No... The only thing undercover is the fact that Daniel Gregg is Daniel Miles inside Schooner Bay and anything he writes with Carolyn. Actually he's less covered." One corner of his mouth lifted in an almost-smile.

"What?"

"No beard, remember? Gotta say, I think he looks more distinguished with one."

"I think so, too."

"And to answer your other question, I don't think he has any problems with the Dashire Foundation, that is nothing except Dash has gotten a bit behind with his share of the business end." He smiled. "And I don't know whether you have caught onto the fact, but the only paperwork our dear Captain really likes is writing with his wife and his beloved logs and sea charts."

"I wouldn't DREAM of trying to tie him down to any paperwork!" Bree exclaimed. "I don't mind the paperwork, really! It's easier than trying to answer Paul's fan mail. Some of that is rather... embarrassing to look at. Much rather deal with emotionless numbers and so forth. You can't get too involved with those."

Blackie's eyebrows went up.

"You're much too pretty... Uhm, nice to bury yourself in paperwork, regardless what the reason, and Paul should have answered his own blasted letters. I have to answer mine."

"Paul had to be learning his lines. I was the personal assistant. It's a part of the job. You get fan mail and love letters?" Bree grinned.

"Uh, no, just letters from my nagging sisters. That sort of thing. What did you ask him? I'm sure there was some misunderstanding."

"I didn't get to ask my question, really, only start to ask it. I'd like the foundation to have a fund-raising cotillion or something. The idea just came to me a bit ago, and I got excited. I wanted to run it by him to see what he thought before hitting my gr — uncle with it."

"Hmm," Blackie mused, tapping his fingers on the table top, unconsciously imitating Adam. "Let's see... In order, one, I have to write a sermon, and God knows what else all week, and we have a part time volunteer in the office. SHE doesn't answer MY personal letters, just business ones. Still think Paul was abusing you a bit there. Two, I think the cotillion sounds like a grand idea. Three, the Captain growled at you about the idea of a dance? That makes no sense at all. Daniel Gregg is very fond of dancing — with his wife, first and foremost — so that can't be the problem. I've heard Carolyn mention the cotillions he told her about enjoying. Four, I can tell you without betraying any confidences that he has had a lot on his mind the last week, even for a spirit, and been under more stress than usual the last few days."

"Really? Well, that could do it," Bree's unhappy face started to clear.

"Yes," Blackie nodded. "Five... sheesh, I HAVE to stop counting... Adam is contagious with that habit — He did the SBB layout by himself this week and he has been a tad nervous re: all the family jokes about _rotten dresses in appalling colors _and _spoiled lobster in bitter sauce_. I can tell you that story 

later, and ask Martha to show you the paper. I know she kept it. Your house was listed as a _crazy cottage for sale by a fake_. Our Captain is something of a perfectionist, too, especially about himself. Six, he had to go to that..." the pastor looked around, cautiously. "...Spectral meeting today that he didn't want to go to, and it wasn't made easier by the fact that all the guys here hate the blasted things. Spectral Captain's only meeting this time, so he was by himself. Seven, if you don't tell Lord Dashire about your idea, I will."

"You really think I should?" Bree answered doubtfully. "I just want to make sure I impress my grandfather, favorably, you know? I've managed to overhear a few testy comments about his "blasted relations," and I don't care to be among the blasted."

"Trust me," he smiled. "There is no way YOU will ever be among the blasted, Bree, and you probably never will be! You really can't tell how much Dash likes you? Except for meeting and marrying my aunt, I think meeting you has made him the happiest I have seen him in ages. He is so proud of you! But as far as Captain Gregg goes, I..."

"As far as the Captain goes, I have never known him before now and I don't have a basis of comparison for how he "normally" behaves. He's so charming, for all I know, he's simply too nice not to be kind. Or too relieved I'm handling the paperwork now."

Blackie chuckled again. "You have a possible point there. The Captain inherited that 'job' when Adam legalized him. I mean the man had to have a profession. It would be too strange to just have him show up and marry Mrs. Gregg — Muir then. But it's really not his forte, you know? Like I said, he likes his sea charts and logs and writing with Carolyn. They've been collaborating since 1968 — before the Captain had even learned to be corporeal for any length of time, I think. But I just can't fathom him being rude. He didn't... call you out, or say anything untoward, did he?"

"You mean a word it wouldn't be nice to say in front of a man of the cloth?" Bree grinned, but the smile disappeared quickly. "No, just something like: '_YOU are running the foundation? Was there a coupe sometime this morning that displaced me? I hardly think a cotillion is in keeping with the mission of the foundation, young lady,' _or something like that, and then he stalked off. Honestly, you would think I had suggested a can-can in the chancel."

This time Blackie did laugh at the visual image he was getting, then his face turned serious and he shook his head again.

"That does NOT sound like the Daniel Gregg I have known for three years! Strange. Really strange. He MUST have misunderstood... something. As I said, he has been busy lately. SBB deadline, the play, and all. Give me until tomorrow. I'll talk to Dash about it."

"I don't want to start a fight between two old and dear friends," Bree answered, her voice was gloomy.

"You aren't. If Daniel is upset about something, his friends need to know so they can help. That's what friends do."

"It still feels like my fault," Bree sighed.

"Trust me. It's not. Have a bit of faith. Things have been going along pretty well so far, haven't they?"

"Fantastic," Bree nodded.

"Good I'm a pastor. I have to mention the faith angle," Blackie smiled, "Darn, I forgot to keep count. Say, I was wondering... If this cotillion thing actually gets planned and set, you'll need a date. I don't suppose you would consider letting me take you, would you? I can dance, at least somewhat, if you remember Valentine's Day." Blackie looked at the woman in front of him closely, seeing the unhappy shadow in her eyes. "Not dating at the moment?" he added, awkwardly. "Never mind, I..."

"No..." Bree looked at the man in front of her carefully. "Actually, the guys were telling me right before they left for Seattle that I should get out more. It's..." She looked at him helplessly.

"Bree..." Blackie started again. "...Is there anything else you need to talk to me about? Something that happened today?"

"It's embarrassing," she admitted. "Look, I should be getting back. Linda is going to think I deserted her."

"Nonsense. With a little luck, Linda has been talking to people, spreading information about the Foundation and getting a bit of sun. Good for her. Now, what else is on your mind?"

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out, Bree plunged in, telling the minister what had transpired between herself and Penelope Hassenhammer. "So you see," she added, "as far as the dance goes, if it goes, I would love to go with you, but it would seem I have raised a few hackles around here — mostly with Pinkie Hassenkoocher, or whatever her name is, who thinks your duties are not best spent giving me a lift from time to time. I don't want to take any FURTHER advantage of you! I do need to think about getting a car, but..."

"But NOTHING," Blackie's voice was rising slightly. "I don't mind giving you a ride when you need it, and I wanted to take you to the dance before, when you first mentioned it, and now I want to take you TWICE as much! So will you go with me?"

"Yes," she nodded happily.

The two beamed at each other for a moment, and then Blackie shook his head. "Penny and me..." he said, still not quite believing what he had heard. "Her? And ME? As someone I know might say, that is SO not happening!"

"What?" Bree blinked at the odd adverb.

"I'll tell you later," he smiled. "Maybe some time before the end of the day, even. It's a FANTASTIC story. Stories, really."

"That's a promise?" Bree asked, looking up at him, "I can count on that?"

"Yes."

XXX

Devon was beginning to feel as if he had dropped into that old Rod Serling show, _The Twilight Zone. _Everyone here seemed to know him. Even the most normal of the strange conversations he had been involved in had been shaded by madness. For a second, he wondered if perhaps Michael had engineered some elaborate hoax, but the former cop did not strike him as possessing the level of genius, much less funds, that it would take to pull off something like this.

Whatever was the cause of this, he did regret it. The festival had looked rather charming, initially anyway. Perhaps the weird events were past now, and he could enjoy things again. At least, that was his hope as he stepped into a tent displaying a mishmash of trinkets, jewelry, knickknacks and recorded Irish music for sale. After making a few selections, including a few tapes to be programmed into KITT'S computer banks, he hoped, and a Celtic cross belt buckle for Michael, Devon got in line to check out behind a young woman holding a child. _So far, so good, if one did not count a few more "Hello, Mr. Miles."_

Suddenly, the girl turned. "I thought I heard your name," she grinned, obviously delighted to see him. "Wanted to say, the _Beacon_ was fantastic yesterday. You did a great job."

"Ah — thank you," Devon replied uncertainly. _What sort of beacon was he supposed to have done something to?_

"Isn't this whole fair marvelous?" the young woman went on enthusiastically.

"Yes, I have found it quite well done," Devon agreed, adjusting his cuffs. He wondered if he dared ask her name. It was difficult to converse with someone when you did not know what to call them.

"I've managed to do some shopping, of course," she rambled on. "Can't tell you EVERYTHING, Mr. Hard to Shop For. Yes, I know, you don't _need_ anything, but it's almost your day, not to mention Molly, Blackie, and Tris'. Have you managed to hear him and Dave playing today?"

"I think perhaps I have," Devon nodded.

"Of course, it's so crowded, and Tris is moving around," she shrugged. "And, I've found a couple of pretty bracelets for Candy and Cousin Mom. They kinda match."

"I'm sure they will love them," Devon thought safe to say.

His companion nodded. "That's what I figured. Cool sunglasses, by the way." She turned the little girl in her arms so she was facing him. "See, sweetie, even Grandpa is wearing shades. Why do you keep pulling YOURS off?"

"No," the child insisted.

Despite his alarm at being called "grandpa," Devon had to smile a little at the toddler's adamant tone. "I do not think she cares for the notion."

"She's getting a hard head, she is," the young mother agreed. "Wonder which side that comes from?" She winked. "After I get done here, I might take her to see Sig, for a pony ride. And, Dave is talking about a puppy, maybe."

"It appeared they had some — ah — cute ones up for adoption," Devon nodded. "Though perhaps a kitten might be better?"

"What? No suggestion of an Irish Wolfhound?" she laughed. "Jon told me all about Moby Dick early on, you know." Suddenly, she was thrusting the little girl toward him. "Would you hold her a sec? She's getting antsy, and my arms need a rest bad."

"Ah," Devon stammered, not sure how to refuse. Before he knew what was happening, the stranger's baby was in his arms. She seemed very disinterested in him.

The mother frowned, as if she had become aware that something was not right. The line inched forward. It appeared they were almost to the checkout. "Say, next Thursday's Dave's and my monthly date," she blushed. "I know you said we don't need to ask, but it's the polite thing to do. Would you mind baby-sitting Amberly?"

Devon tried to quell the shock he felt overwhelming him. One did not just thrust children on strangers and ask them to tend to them. "Ah, well, as delightful as that sounds, I do not believe I will be here then."

"Another meeting? Good heavens," the black-haired girl sighed. "Okay. That probably lets the other guys out, too. Maybe Candy or Jess would like some practice."

"Practice?" Devon felt lost again.

"Well, her and Adam's baby will be here in about seven or eight weeks," Jenny shook her head. "I know you eternally, infernally male types take less notice of that kind of thing, but I bet she has it worked out to the minute."

"Ah, well," Devon stammered. _Where is that car when I need it? _"Oh, look, it's your turn to check out."

"Oh!" the woman exclaimed. "Great." She paid for her things, and then turned to take the very indifferent Amberly back. "Want to come with us to see Sig?"

"Ah, no. That is, I have a few things I need to — attend to," Devon demurred.

"Okay. I'll catch you later, then. I'll save you a picture," she promised, then hurried away.

The cashier was beaming. "You surely do have a sweet grand-baby," the middle-aged woman complimented him.

Since that was the sort of comment it was hard to argue about, even when completely untrue, Devon just smiled uncertainly. "The child is — adorable." _How the devil did I acquire a daughter and granddaughter?_

XXX

Devon Miles shook his head as he left the crafts booth and the woman and her baby behind, and then looked at his watch. _Damn. Only two o'clock._ _I can't expect Michael and KITT for at least couple of hours, most likely more, and the idea of me calling them and saying "Help, get me out of this odd little town" is impossible. If I could find a payphone, I MIGHT be able to get through to KITT's car phone. He'll answer, whether Michael is still in court or not. KITT could reach Michael, but Michael can't leave before he is through, and blast, I hate the idea of having to call on __**Michael **__for rescue. Besides, I'm not being threatened, exactly, or shot at, or any number of the things Michael and KITT get themselves into week after week. But how am I going to stay busy without running into anyone else who seems to know me? I don't know how much longer I can fake it! I've wandered through most of the vendor booths, as well as ones like the Animal Relief and Adoption ones that post information about themselves and look for donations, and such, and I've picked up a little something for Bonnie, Michael, KITT, my secretary, and several things for myself. I'm not hungry at the moment, and somehow I don't think this is the time to find a bench and some shade and start reading my new book, tempting as the idea might be! There must be SOME way to occupy myself for a while longer!_

Devon realized he could hear music in the distance again, and seeing it was not that whelp with the guitar, he headed toward it. A small crowd had gathered by the time he reached the area. A man around his own age was standing at the microphone singing in the most glorious tenor voice he had ever heard.

_**Sometime in October we sailed from New England's shore,**_

_**When we sailed into a raging storm, like I've never ever seen before! **_

_**And all of the crew, they were brave men, but the Captain, he was braver,**_

_**He said: "Never mind the ship, me boys, there's none of us here can save her..." **_

_**Let her go down, swim for your lives, swim for your children, swim for your wives,**_

_**But let her go down... Just let her go down...**_

_**(Peter Knight)**_

The song went on to describe the fate of the crew and the captain, and when it ended, there was a long round of applause. Taking a bow, the singer, whom Devon could tell was Irish, grinned and bowed, and then he, the young man toward the back and an attractive redhead, around the Irishman's age, stepped closer to the edge of the platform.

"And now something a bit livelier... "The Irishman said, and without another word of introduction, the group broke into the traditional favorite, _The Irish Rover. _As they finished, once more to hearty applause, the other male singer stepped back a bit and the redhead joined the lead singer at the microphone, and together, in perfect harmony, started to sing:

_**Just give me your hand, and I'll walk with you, **_

_**Through the streets of our land, through the mountains so grand.**_

_**If you give me your hand...**_

Devon had to almost choke back a tear or two. The song was one of his favorites, and one he knew his parents had used in their wedding in 1920._ They died so long ago, he thought, during the London Blitz. Why is it at times it still feels like I received the news yesterday? Stupid waste, war... _Through clouded eyes, he listened as the pair finished:

_**With a passion, we can fashion, a new world of love!**_

Once more he and the people around him applauded, and the Irishman announced a fifteen minute break before the last 'set' of the afternoon. Devon was disappointed. They were doing a wonderful job, and no one had called him by name for ten minutes. _Something of a relief, that, _he thought. Giving one more bow, the trio stepped off the stage and the crowd, after leaving a monetary offering in an open guitar case near the front of the stage that said "Donations accepted here for the Dashire Foundation," had disbursed, the younger man looked at him.

"Hey! Great to see you!" He grinned as he watched Devon place a five-dollar bill into the pot. "You got out early! Glad you liked it, but I can't stand around and talk at the moment. I promised Jen I would meet her and Amberly for a pony ride — and if we have time, get our portraits done. You know, dress up in old fashioned clothes and..." He looked at his watch. "Yeah, I _really_ better hurry! Good-bye! Sean — see you back here in what? Fifteen — twenty minutes? Cool." With that, he was off before Devon could say a word.

Sean clapped his 'friend' on the shoulder, startling Devon all over again.

"I had to put that last one in the show somewhere, my friend. Brings up old memories!" He gave Molly's hand a squeeze. "Of course I think I like what happened the first time it was played in Schooner Bay the best. Two years ago already! It seems like yesterday!" Not minding in the least if 'Daniel' or anyone else saw him, he leaned over and gave Molly a very passionate kiss. She, in turn, blushed like a rose.

"Uhm, my memory is not what it once was..." Devon hedged. _Blast... someone else who says he knows me? And what is it everyone thinks I left early from?_

"YOU?" Sean blinked, "Mr. elephants and gh... you know... never forget? Forget the most important thing that has happened to me in more than a century? Surely, you're joking, laddie!" Smiling, he gave another loving look to his wife. "You know as well as I do, that was the song Molly was singing when we found each other again."

"Of course," Devon shrugged indifferently, deciding it was pointless to argue. "A century is pushing it a bit, don't you think, though?" He looked around. "Anyway, to my point... I was wondering if you had any recordings of your music team? Do you and your..." He glanced down surreptitiously at the smiling couple's matching wedding bands. "...Wife, and the rest of your group..." Devon gestured in the direction Dave had left. "...Have any tapes or records for sale? You are quite good, you know."

"Uh... thanks," Sean looked startled. "I'm afraid not, but it would feel sort of silly to sell YOU our music, anyway."

"I don't see why," Devon sniffed, adjusting his cuffs. "I like good music as well as the next person, and this Irish fair _is_ supposed to be a fund-raising event, at least of sorts, is it not? I daresay you could have made a tidy sum for your foundation. Blank tapes and printers' costs are not that outrageous. And it would be a prudent thing, I think, to have some of your music preserved for posterity's sake."

"Maybe he has a point, Sean..." Molly's face looked thoughtful. "_Taliesin _did make records."

"Perhaps," Sean grinned. "If we could find a studio that didn't cost a king's ransom, and we could get everyone together for it. We'll have to ask Adam about his drum, that is if we could pull him 

away from Jess for that long, and maybe get Tris, Candy, and Martha in on it, too. It still seems amusing, recording for 'posterity,' all things considered, though."

Devon nodded shortly. "All things, of course, must be... considered, to be sure."

Sean gave Devon a curious look. "I do appreciate the idea, my friend. Definitely something to think about. Maybe we could use the hall at the church for recording. You could always join us, you know. A guest number, perhaps?"

Devon, although still completely at sea, had to bark out a terse laugh. "Me? I hardly think so. I'm no singer!"

Molly frowned, as did Sean. "I know different, Mr. Gr..." She cut off, seeing a local Schooner Bayite coming in the other direction. "...Miles. I think you would be a marvelous addition. As a matter of fact, if you push us into following through with this new project, I daresay the town would expect it."

"I care little for what this town expects, especially when it is a patently bad idea."

"But..." Molly's eyes grew wide. "You were the one who suggested making a record!"

"But, I never suggested that I appear ON it," he snapped. "You two, three, with that other chap who left to see the pony rides and you include the impudent child..."

Thunder rumbled in the distance and Sean's green eyes blazed.

"Molly was only making a suggestion, friend... but that remark... and what do you mean, impudent child? If you don't want to be on this record, which was YOUR idea anyway, fine, but I dinna think you need to be so blasted RUDE about it. This is my WIFE you are talking to, you know!"

"This entire town is insane, or I am," Devon muttered to himself. "No offense meant, but really, man. You are very gifted musicians, and it would be a pity if no one else heard the fruit of your talents. And you misunderstood. I did not say your wife is an impudent child, but that young blonde man wandering with a guitar. Extremely cheeky. Now, if you will excuse me, I'll be on my way."

So saying, Devon turned to go, and before either Sean or Molly could recover their power of speech, he had melted into the crowd.

"Something is VERY wrong," the Irishman grumbled.

"Agreed, love," Molly nodded, her eyes troubled, "but what? I have never seen Daniel act like this — not in the entire time we were growing up together, and certainly not in the last two years! Do you think something is wrong with Carolyn? Could THEY be spatting? I think it is time to rally forces, darlin'."

"Aye," Sean nodded. "But we have one more music set to do, and..."

"Hey," Dave said as he ambled toward the couple. "You should have seen Amberly on that pony. She'll want one in the back yard, next. You guys ready to do it again?" He looked at their disturbed faces. "Say, what's going on?"

Sean fought to not thunder again. He was confused, angry, offended, and worried all at once. He had never disliked Daniel Gregg in his life or afterlife, but at the moment, he wanted to shake or sock the man. Before he could find the words to express what he was feeling, Molly explained in a low tone, concluding with, "And, it seems like I can feel bad vibes flyin' all over the place."

"Something does feel a little off, today," Dave agreed. "Jen said Amberly didn't even kiss "grandpa" today when they met up over by the marching band's booth, and, say, was that one of you who thundered a few minutes ago? There's not a cloud in the sky. Made the ponies jump. What say we get this last set out of the way, turn the stage over to the step dancers and get a hold of the rest of the crew? Like as not, it is something simple, but when a..." He looked around. "...Ghost gets bad vibes, it is nothing to be sneezed at."

My heart's not in singin' anymore, but, aye," Sean nodded.

Dave gave his friend a look. "Sean, I want to find out what's up with the Captain, but we can't just drop everything. Besides, it will take a bit to round everyone up — even if you and Molly can pop this way and that and not be seen by the townspeople. And all of us taking off at once is going to leave a little hole, anyway."

"Aye. I'm just not sure how merry our songs will be, that's all," Sean answered, glancing at Molly again.

"Me either. We can do ballads. Be harder to spot. The crowd seems to be dwindling, but we did promise to sing until three when the kid's groups take over. We can figure out what's going on then. Now..." He patted the dejected Irishman on the shoulder. "...Let's get to it."

With a nod, the O'Casey's followed him to the mikes.

_XXX _

_Perhaps I __**should**__ take the sea captain's memoirs and hide out for the next two-and-half hours, _Devon thought to himself. _The way the townsfolk is incessantly treating me — as if I am someone they know — has moved beyond unsettling to most annoying! How was I supposed to know what songs brought back memories for that Irish fellow? Moreover, I am not anyone's grandfather, no matter how charming a child that little girl was and I am always a good dresser! What a wretched day this has become! Made more so by the fact that I has so hoped to enjoy it! I should have just gone with Michael and KITT. At least I'd be able to say I told you so, though not for the reason I thought, that Michael would blow it in court. Hopefully, that is still a point for argument!_

Devon scanned the area without any expectations, searching for someone who did NOT know him and for some way to salvage the day. His eyes landed on a striking, mature woman heading his way with a smile. He was not sure if he minded if _**she**_ knew him.

"Well, it's good to see a familiar face in this crowd," she declared when she was close enough to speak to. "Days like this, I'm very aware of being the new 'girl' in town. And, it appears I'm virtually the only one of the crew at loose ends." Her shoulders lifted in a _c'est la vie_ gesture. "And, I am trying to avoid Miss Husslehooper, er — oh — oh, blast it; Tristan's got me doing it now." Despite her claim of being irritated, she laughed. "She still wants Millie to be pretty and nicer."

"Well, ah, I don't see how she could effect that happening," Devon cleared his throat. "It is a rather harsh judgment, on her part."

"Don't think I haven't tried to explain that to her," the woman sighed. "Enough about the little snip. It's far too lovely a day to waste thinking about that over-starched bit of fluff."

"I quite agree. Since we both appear to be — at loose ends, perhaps I could keep you from being lonely?" Devon offered with his most winning smile.

The woman looked taken aback slightly. "Ah—"

"Or we could go somewhere more peaceful and have a late lunch, or early dinner, my dear?" he continued.

The woman's mien lost its friendliness with amazing swiftness as it tightened into offended anger. "I hardly think that appropriate."

Puzzled, Devon reflexively gave his left ear a tug. The woman noticed the gesture, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the absence of the gold band she was used to seeing there. In an angry hiss, she continued, "I think you have some problems you need to resolve, forthwith." With a curt nod, she strode away, leaving Devon completely baffled.

XXX

"Hey, Sig," Candy Muir-Avery called to her spectral friend manning the pony rides, or Pookah rides as some creative soul had decided to label them. "How's it going?"

"Splendidly, I think," he smiled, and then frowned. "I've been detecting a slight disquiet, but it's blasted hard to focus in all this stir."

Candy nodded. "Maybe just too much energy buzzing around?"

"That could be it, dear girl, indeed," Siegfried nodded; glancing back to make sure the tykes were doing well with their rides. "Vibes can be difficult to judge, after all. Excitement can feel the same as anxiety." He turned back to look at her. "Care for a ride?"

"I'm short, but not _**that**_ short," she chuckled and looked out onto the street. Her grin slowly melted as her eyes found Siegfried's younger brother. Some things were not hard to read at all. There was no mistaking the lavender-blue aura Tristan was radiating. For a second, she hesitated, wondering if she really wanted to know, but despite this found herself saying, "Tris! Over here!"

Startled, he looked up then turned from his path to go over to Candy and Siegfried. "Hey," he forced a smile.

Before Siegfried could get up a head of steam to fire off a battery of rapid questions, Candy demanded, "What is wrong?"

"Noth—"

"Don'tgiveusthat,youngman," Siegfried snapped.

"Right," Candy echoed grimly.

Tristan scowled, and then sighed. "Fine. Would one of you tell me what I have done wrong?"

Siegfried and Candy's heads turned to stare at each other.

"No one's told ME anything you've done wrong," Candy said.

"I certainly know of nothing, and if I do not, then — I find it difficult to believe you have, in fact, done anything," Siegfried frowned. "Who told you that you had? If it's that Shoe person—"

"No, not her. I didn't_ think _I'd done a thing, but I guess I must have. I..." Tris gave Candy a hesitant glance filled with indecision and hurt.

"If Thom's said anything..." she began, not sure where to go with that.

"No, not him. It's... the Captain."

"Daniel?" Siegfried sputtered just as Candy gasped, "Dad?"

"I didn't want to tell YOU," Tristan said to her. He related their confrontation. "I was just popping off, a little. All in good fun. I didn't say anything that out of line, I thought, but maybe I did something earlier that set him off, and this just was a — a — catalyst. But, what?"

"This is not like him," Candy fretted, looking across the square, trying to catch sight of her step-dad.

"I agree. Not when he was," Tristan's voice dropped, "alive either. I was worried about if—?"

"It is that time," Candy broke in, unable to hold it back. "You are still empowered?"

"Checked. I was kinda trying to make my way to the harbor to get a better look, just in case, but hadn't eased there yet," Tristan admitted. "But, I seem to have it all together."

For once, Siegfried resisted the urge to make something of that remark. "I have heard no thunder," he mused instead. "Surely if Daniel were angry with you or anyone..."

"Are there any — Captain's only jinxes?" Candy asked hopefully.

"Knowledge of them must be restricted as well, if there are," Tristan shook his head.

"Blast. I could try to find him," the young woman offered.

"No," Tristan firmly stated. "If he's gone mental, you don't need to see it."

"I will sometime," she argued.

"Both of you, hush," Siegfried checked the area visually. "We are in public, children."

"If I were not depressed already, you would not get away with that remark," Tristan glared.

Siegfried's frown deepened. He'd been trying to rouse his brother into a snappy retort. That one was not forthcoming worried him.

"I don't mind getting slapped down if I've done something worth it," Tristan went on, "but to be and not know why is maddening. And — it just feels terribly—" His brow puckered as he searched for the right word. Giving up he shook his head, "Insane. Off. Wrong."

Siegfried helplessly patted each of them on the shoulder. "We'll find him and get things put right. On brighter subjects, you two just missed seeing your favorite niece on horseback."

Before Sig's attempt at cheer could take hold, Bronwyn appeared out of the blue, angry tears gleaming in her eyes.

"Bronwyn, whatthedevildoyouthinkyouareabout? Justappearing—" Siegfried angrily whispered.

"Don't, Rob, just DON'T," she snapped.

Siegfried blinked and let her embrace him, awkwardly placing his arms around her. "My dear, what on earth has upset you?"

Bronwyn swallowed. "It's too awful. D-Daniel made a pass at me, and he's not wearing his wedding ring."

Candy turned pale. "He'd never cheat on Mom, especially not knowing about how — my father, such as he was, treated her."

"And, he'd be daft to do it HERE, not that he would, but it'd be stupid. The Captain is not dumb," Tristan shook his head.

"I can't believe it," Candy whispered. "I do believe you, Bron, but there's gotta be some explanation."

Tris nodded, "Yeah, I can buy that I might have done something that'd get him mad at me, I don't know what, but it's more plausible than — that."

"You three, stay here," Siegfried commanded.

"What are you going to do?" Tristan demanded.

XXX

"This is unbelievably boring," Thom Avery informed his mother pleasantly. "Why did we volunteer to help in the medical tent again?"

Linden Dashire replied, "Uhm, let me see — we have medical training."

"No one's gotten hurt today," he said.

"Yes, and generally, that is considered a good thing," the doctor quipped as the tent flap was pushed aside. "You spoke too soon, I think." She turned to see who had gotten too much sun or had an incident that required her intervention.

"Sorry, luv," Dash grinned. "Just me."

"That is not a bad thing," she smiled and kissed him, then frowned. "But, you do look like you're in pain. Has all the chocolate finally caught up with you, Charlie?"

Shaking his head, the deceased nobleman answered, "No. I doubt that could happen. No, I've felt as if — for want of a better analogy — I've had a migraine coming on. There's a lot of tension, bad vibes in the air."

"Something wrong with the family?" Thom asked, all mock-griping gone.

"That would be my conclusion," Dash nodded.

"Can you — tell anything?" the young man queried, not sure how to phrase it.

Dash closed his eyes, then cracked one open. "Keep watch. I don't work well with audiences." He phased into ghostliness. A moment later, he was solid again, and sighed. "Nothing's clear. Sean and Tris are very upset, Sig seems to be in a rage, and Bronwyn and Molly are flustered. The mortals are harder to read, but Bree and Candy are definitely projecting worry. Claymore — is giddy." His eyes snapped open.

"What about the Captain?" Lynne noticed that was the only ghost he had not mentioned.

"I can't feel him."

"He's at that meeting, right?" she asked.

"No. I saw him earlier, he was acting oddly," Dash scowled. "But, I can't feel his mind."

Lynne gulped. "Can you find Sean?"

"Absolutely."

She took a deep breath. "Thom, someone has to stay here and deal with anyone who might come in. Yeah, I know, no one has, but they might. You do that, Charlie and I are going to find Sean."

"Why can't I go? You said my wife was upset."

"Because I'm your mother, and I said so. If someone got hurt and no one was here, it'd be bad. Please, don't argue."

"We'll let you know what's going on with all due haste," Dash promised, grabbing his wife's hand and leading her toward where he felt Sean's distress originating from.

XXX

Before Siegfried could expound on his plans to yell, run the Captain up a mizzenmast, otherwise injure, or a combination of the three, Dave, Sean, and Molly arrived. One look at their faces had Siegfried demanding to know what was wrong. Dave told them, as kindly as possible, but he was clearly confounded by the whole situation.

"Okay, guys," Candy started. "Enough. Something is going on here, and I want to know what. If Captain Dad is acting weird, there has to be a reason."

"Well, I never IMAGINED he would EVER make a pass at me," Bron said, almost embarrassed. "Candy, you know I would never DREAM of..."

"I know that," the girl answered. "It's the wedding ring thing that bothers me. Dad always wears his ring. He told me once that seaman usually didn't wear them, even when they were married, because it was a hazard in the profession. You could get it caught on a line, or something, and no more finger, or hand! He said it was just one more good thing about being married and NOT at sea any more. He could wear a wedding ring, and he would never remove his, under ANY circumstances."

"Aye," Sean added. "I always wore mine, even after Molly and I were separated, but I couldn't wear it at sea, and we told Dash the same thing when he came aboard. While the thought and the sentimentality was understood and appreciated, leave it in the ditty box. Dash was not thrilled, as I recall."

"Well, I'm not thrilled either," Sig growled. "Not wearing his wedding ring! TothinkthatBronwnnbe subjecttoanythinglikethisis..."

"Wait a minute, Sig..." Candy interjected again and looked at the ghosts in front of her. "I still say... look, can you guys get amnesia? Anything like that?"

"I never heard of such a thing," Sean shook his head. "At least not anything related to seamen! Molly love, you traveled in a different circle than I when you were in Ireland, and again when you were traveling and performing with _Tailesan... _Do you know of anything? Bron?" He faced the still 

slightly shaken woman. "Anything in your theater circles that would suggest such a thing? Some kind of virus, maybe?"

Both women shook their heads, and Sean shrugged. "Moot point, really. Something is wrong, and there is no time to play detective at the moment. We have to go with what we know, and find out what is going on. Danny is acting very, very, oddly. Nothing of what I have seen today seems like him. I wish Fontenot were here — he might know something we don't."

"Do you think...?" Tris started, and then stopped.

"Think what, Tris?" Candy asked.

"Could the Captain and Mrs. Captain have had some kind of bad argument, and he is here, just... letting off steam?"

"Letting off steam by making a pass at Bronwyn?" Sig said coldly. "If this is how Daniel Gregg lets off steam, I..."

"Shush, Sig," Candy frowned, "We don't know he did anything deliberately... yet. As for Captain Dad and Mom, they used to spat, but nothing serious as to make him act so... so..."

"Freaky?" Tris offered.

"Tris!" Molly scolded him. "The Captain isn't freaky. Highly disagreeable, but not freaky."

"I think we're wasting time," Dave put in. "Standing here wondering, I mean."

"Well, I'mpastwondering," Sig said excitedly. "I,forone,amgoingtogofindthatsonofaseacookrightnow, and..."

"Rob!" Bron interrupted him. "Dave is right, and slow down! We need to get hold of everyone else, and yes, I know I need to remember we are in public while we do it. But first we rally the troops, then we all get out to Gull Cottage just as soon as we can, and..."

"Wait a minute!" Candy held up a hand again.

"What?"

"Look. We don't know what has been going on out there. I don't want to horn in on Mom and Dad if they are having a... a fight..."

"Ye have a point, lass, but he's involved all of us, acting as he has." Sean was inclined to agree with Tris, but one disagreeing couple a day was ample.

Molly shook her head. "Still, Candy is right. I dinna like the idea of Carolyn being taken unawares, just in case she knows NOTHING of what is going on. Daniel doesn't seem like the type, but — I guess stranger things have happened."

"Are you suggesting one of us needs to go out to Gull Cottage and kind of test the waters?" Tris asked. "I'll go."

Sean shook his head. "No, I'm Danny's oldest friend. I'll do it."

"Sean, love..." Molly cut in. "I know you are Daniel's best friend and first mate, and I know you have known Carolyn for a long time — much longer than I have, but if they have been fighting, she'll need a woman to talk to. Besides, if we are going to rally the crew, they will need you here — you can pop to any non-ghosts... you know, Claymore, Jenny, Martha, Ed..."

"I am trustworthy. I have tact," Tristan insisted. "I'm not a cheeky kid. Well, I am, but that's not all, and definitely not all the time. I know when things are serious."

"We know, dear," Molly sighed. "But if this is trouble involving a husband and wife, ach, I don't know, but maybe Carolyn would be more willing to talk to me..."

"Or ME," Candy added. "It's a short drive to Gull Cottage now that the county finally put in a decent road. I can go. I'll leave right now."

"Lass, I can pop in two seconds, tops," Sean smiled kindly. "And, your nerves are jangled."

"Besides," Tris pointed out. "You need to go get Thom, and ride with him... maybe Lynne, too. And we still need to find Blackie, Bree, Barnaby, Martha and Ed... Jess and Adam... we can't pop everywhere. Good Lord, old Clay is right. We do have a volleyball team."

"This is not the time for levity," Sig snapped, giving Bron another sideways glance.

"The lad's just stating facts — there are a lot of us, all told, and we are spread out all over today," Sean shrugged.

"Well, I know I can't leave the horses to fend for themselves," Sig sniffed. "Lucky we were on a break anyway, no kids around. I need to go find Mr. Gordon and have him fill in here with the ponies — I know he can get them home tonight. Then, I don't care WHAT the problem is; I plan on having a few words with Daniel Gregg!"

Impulsively giving Bronwyn a kiss on the cheek, he started walking toward the other end of the square.

As he left, the Dashires hurried up. "Charlie had a... hunch that we were needed," Lynne said. "Was he right?"

At the same time, Dash looked at Candy, "Are you well, Candy? And where is my gr — Bree?"

"Still working at the Dashire Foundation booth, I think," the blonde responded. "Either that, or she was helping Blackie earlier, I think too. Gotta be one place or the other. Where's Thom?"

"Manning the medical tent, unhappily, but someone had to."

"Yeah," Candy said. "I bet. Is Doctor Anderson taking over your booth any time soon? We all need to get to Gull Cottage. Something's wrong with Dad." Quickly she related Bronwyn's, Tris', and the O'Casey's stories. "Sig just left to find Mr. Gordon to take over the ponies, and Sean and Molly are, I think, together going out to talk to Mom. If my parents are fighting, they don't need the whole family descending on them, but we need to know, you know? What did Dad do to you?"

"Nothing in particular, but his clothes were odd, and he did seem touchy," Dash frowned.

"Odd by YOUR standards, or the 1980's?" Candy grinned. "Never mind. Later. Right now, we need to get hold of everyone we can't project to and get out to Gull Cottage."

"Aye, and Molly and I need to get moving, and talk to Carrie, if that is the plan, Ms. Lieutenant," Sean smiled.

"Hey, I like that." She smiled back. "So who goes after whom?"

"I'll go find Bree," Dash said firmly. "And, I suppose Claymore. He seems to get less disturbed by me."

"I'll get Adam and Jess," Tris offered.

"And I know where Jenny and Amberly are," Dave said. "So I'll go get them. Martha I know is at the PTA Booth and Ed is with the Chamber of Commerce — that's on the way, too. Guess that leaves Barnaby, who is wandering. First one to see him, just grab him."

"I can go after Barnaby," said Bron. "I'll go invisibly until I see him and then pop in the nearest corner I can and get him. Wait, what about Blackie?"

"I'll find Blackie," Lynne volunteered. "Blast. He'll need someone to cover his booth, too."

"You know, if Daniel is really sick, one of us could pop, in stages, and find Fontenot..." Molly frowned.

"We'll jump off that bridge if we get to it," Lynne interjected. "Besides, Bree has a phone number for Jason, and company. She could call, have them tell him, and HE could pop."

"Right, I forgot," Molly blushed. "I'm just... Sean, we need to get going."

"And so does everyone else, love," her husband answered, giving Candy, Bron and Lynne each a peck on the cheek. "Let's be off."

"And we all meet at Gull Cottage?" Candy inquired, "I guess that's best. Blast, blast. I hate this not knowing what is happening stuff!"

"Me too," Bron nodded. "But I think all our bases are covered — at least for the moment."

XXX

A second and half later, Sean and Molly landed on Gull Cottage's porch. Politely, Sean knocked, but no answer came.

"Do ye think she's so upset she doesna want to talk?" Sean frowned.

Molly shook her head. "She could well be, aye, but she might be upstairs, or — I don't hear Dakota barking. She's not much of a watchdog, but she does bark when someone comes to the door."

Sean heaved in a sigh of relief and hope. "She must have taken Kota for a walk." Then, his frown returned. "Carrie walks on the beach when she's upset..."

"And other times," Molly reminded him. "Plus, it's been ages since I've had a dog to walk, but they do need to walk, no matter what the owner's emotional state is. If Kota was only walked when Carolyn was upset, it would not be pleasant."

"Let's head down to the beach," Sean said. "It won't take long for the family to get rounded up and arrive. She needs to be prepared first. Of course, they do have to locate Barnaby..."

A pop took them straight to where Carolyn and Dakota were strolling. The O'Caseys remained invisible for a moment, observing her, trying to gauge her mood. To look at her, Mrs. Gregg had no idea of what her husband was up to. Her face looked relaxed and happy. Though they hated to take that from their friend, the Irish couple felt they had no choice as they made themselves corporeal.

Seemingly sensing their arrival, Carolyn looked up, halfway daring to hope Daniel's boring meeting had let out early and he was there so they could go to town together. As much as she loved Sean and Molly, she was disappointed to see them instead and more than slightly surprised. "Hello," she smiled. "What brings you here? I thought you were entertaining the town." Then, she saw their serious expressions. "What's wrong?"

"Carrie, I think we should go inside," Sean softly replied, gently pushing Dakota down as she jumped up on him.

"Has someone been hurt? Candy? Jenny? Amberly?" the woman demanded, planting herself firmly in the sand.

"They're — uninjured," Molly said, coming to take her friend's arm.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me," Carolyn set her jaw. "I know you can make me — but please, don't. Just tell me."

Sean sighed. "Very well. Carrie, have you and Danny had a fight?"

Utter confusion filled her face. "What? No. Not in ages."

"No harsh words before he left?" Sean probed.

Carolyn blushed and said, "Hardly. Er — just the opposite. He nearly didn't make it to the meeting, to be frank."

"Oh," Sean looked down in embarrassment.

"Why are you asking me such a ridiculous thing?"

"Carolyn," Molly said, "ye don't have to cover it up. We've seen Daniel, and we know he's — upset about something. And, being on the outs with you is the only thing that would make him act so unlike himself."

"I don't understand," Carolyn was mystified, but still resisted the slight tug on her arm when Sean tried to pull her back to Gull Cottage.

"He's been in town and well, according to Dash, is dressed oddly, Jenny says he was rather standoffish to her and the lass, he hurt Tristan's feelings, was rude to Molly and me, and..." Sean trailed off, hating to say the rest.

"And what?"

"He — made advances to Bronwyn," Molly winced.

Carolyn looked from one to the other. "No. He wouldn't do that. Not any of it."

"Carrie, he did," Sean insisted. "I hate it, and I have to think he's got some illness. I didna know we could get sick, but 'tis the only explanation."

"OR," Carolyn argued, "It's not HIM. Look, when I first saw Sean Callahan IV, I thought he was Daniel, playing a trick on me as a joke. And, we know that Sean Callahan the First did impersonate Daniel. We know he left Callahan Castle, but do we know he went to the Light? Maybe he's wandering around."

Sean had to grant that she did have a point, but he doubted it was so. "Let's go on in. It's still chilly out here, and the rest of the family is on the way."

Carolyn gave in and followed them to the house, refusing to believe for even one second that her second husband was the utter rat her first one had been, and it was only a few minutes, fifteen at most, before the parade of cars pulled up to Gull Cottage.

XXX

Devon sighed. _Only two-forty-five. Michael won't be back in Schooner Bay for at least another hour and fifteen minutes, and given the way the court system usually works, maybe longer than that, __**most likely **__longer than that._ Quickly he counted his remaining cash. _Should be enough. That's the ticket. I'll just hire a taxi and make the drive to Bangor. If I leave now, I can just about make it before Michael would be leaving to make his way back here,_ he reasoned. _Anything is better than hanging around here where people I don't know seem to know me. Not to mention all the odd comments! I really have seen everything there is to see around this strange little town, anyway... No, that isn't true. I'd love to shop a tad more. The best deals always come out the last day at these affairs... see the boat show, the high school kids dancing and singing, and other festivities, but this place is just getting too strange!_

Resolutely, the muscles in his shoulders tensing at the thought of a ride in the back seat of an uncomfortable car, he made his way toward the cabstand a block away.

"Hello, Mister Miles!" the cabbie, Charlie Frisbee, waved from the curb where he was standing. "Did you miss your ride? I saw most of your family leave for Gull Cottage about fifteen minutes ago..."

In a rage, Devon cut the man off.

"HOW THE DEVIL DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!"

Charlie took a step backwards.

"Uhh..." he started. "...Why shouldn't I know your name? You okay, Mister Miles?"

Devon counted to ten in German, slowly, to himself. Blasting at this man would accomplish nothing, and would only make him appear as odd as he already felt. _"...acht... neun... zehn." _Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a breath, and then said quietly: "Look, my good man. Do I have some I.D. badge on my person that I cannot see?"

"Pardon?"

"Who do you think I am?"

"You okay?" the cabbie asked. "You been out in the sun too long?"

"I'm quite well," the Englishman said softly. "I just asked you a question. Who do you think I am, please?"

"You're Mister Miles," Charlie answered, puzzled.

"And do I know you from somewhere?"

"Uh no. I know you. I mean, you have never used me before, usually walk or ride with the Missus, sometimes with young Mr. Matthews or Mr. Farnon, but I've seen ya at the church and Norrie's, and so on. And just last week I was at the _Beacon_, putting an ad in your paper..."

Devon tried again. "What do you believe my full name to be? Or just the first one?"

"Err... Daniel. Few folks have made the joke that maybe it was that name that got Mrs. Miles attention. You know, having the same name as Daniel Gregg, the guy who first built Gull Cottage, but no one puts much stock in that. She'd have taken up with Claymore if that were the case. He's got the last name, Gregg."

"And WHO do you think I am again?" he asked slowly.

"Daniel Miles." Charlie Frisbee stared at him. "That's who you are, right?"

"DANIEL!" Devon cried, triumphantly, snapping his fingers. "You said _DANIEL!"_

"Well of course I did, Mister Miles, seen' that's your name..."

Devon blew out a long sigh of relief.

"I do believe the dawn is breaking, my good fellow! My name is DEVON, not DANIEL Miles. D-E-V-O-N. I thought you knew my name, and while I find that perplexing, as I have never BEEN here, it is obvious you have mistaken me for someone else!"

"You AREN'T Daniel Miles?" Charlie shook his head in wonder. "Surely not! Oh, well, I am sure your... what... Brother? Cousin? Is expecting you... You really aren't him? Well if that don't beat all! You look just like him, you do. Come to think of it, he does look a little younger, maybe. You just have to be a relative or something. Now ain't that a hoot!" The man chuckled and lit the pipe he had been holding.

"I don't know who Daniel Miles is," Devon answered shortly. "Never met the man before in my life, and I don't have a brother, son, nephew, or cousin by that name, either, that I am aware of. As I said, my name is **Devon** Miles, I'm visiting your town because of the Irish Fair — and I had business in the area. I suppose I cannot convince you I don't know the fellow, but could you tell me where I might find him? I do think, somehow, we need to get to the bottom of a few things."

"You sure look like him," Charlie drawled. "Now ain't that too bad? I don't think Mister Miles — I mean the other one — has any blood family around here. Too bad, because he sure is a nice fella. Sure Mister... uh Miles... I think they would be glad to meet you. Want a lift to Gull Cottage?"

"Gull Cottage?"

"Yup. I said that before. That's where he lives with his wife. Carolyn Muir... I mean Miles. You know, the author. They've been married about three years now."

Devon pulled out the book he had been itching to read. _The Memoirs of a Sea Captain_, by Carolyn Muir. The fellow was right. Things were starting to fall into place, just maybe.

"Can you take me to this Gull Cottage?" he inquired.

"Sure," Charlie shrugged. "Nothing keepin' me here. You do know there are SOME rumors that place is haunted?" He knocked the tobacco plug out of his pipe, ground it under his heel and placed the pipe in his coat pocket.

"My dear fellow, England is full of ghosts," Devon said, climbing into the cab, clearly not believing, but humoring the man. "I'm not worried."

As they pulled away from the curb, the Englishman smiled. _**Daniel**__ Miles! _he said to himself. _Now who would have expected to find a deep, dark mystery in a little town like Schooner Bay? And here I was, trying to get away from intrigue for a while! I can't wait to meet this fellow! At last, my mystery has been solved... at least PART of it!_

XXX

The cars lined up quickly in front of Gull Cottage, but Candy sprang from her car first, Thom following close behind.

"Mom, are you all right?" she asked, her face a question mark.

"I'm fine, sweetie," Carolyn nodded. "But don't look so worried... I'm sure there's..."

"Where's Blackie?" Sean asked, interrupting. "We need him here."

"He had to wait a few more minutes for Mrs. Abernathy, his secretary, to get settled at the booth. He said to go without him. He and Bree will be following."

"Adam and Jess?" Molly asked "I don't see their jeep... or Jess's car."

"Adam was manning Uncle Dash and Bree's booth — Linda Coburn had to leave — and got treed by Miss Grover. She had some questions. Soon as she finishes, they'll be here."

"Oh, fine..." Tris muttered. "He could be another hour! She's been a lot perkier since she started getting out more."

"Jess will rescue him, I'm sure," Lynne assured him. "And, Sig's trying to find Mr. Gordon so the horses will be seen to."

"And we just hope that will give him time to calm down," Martha nodded.

"Might work up a better head of steam," Barnaby essayed.

"I'd bet on the professor being correct," Tristan nodded sagely, "knowing my dear brother."

"I'd have to agree with Barnaby and Tris," said Martha, who had arrived with Ed, more or less at the same time as the ghosts had materialized. "I think he gets more riled than the Captain about most things, these days. Now listen..." She tapped her foot. "It's starting to get a tad chilly out here for us mortal types. What do you say we all get inside, and I'll make some coffee? We can discuss this more there."

Carolyn looked from one to the other, the urge to argue and defend her husband at war with innate hospitality that wouldn't let her leave these normally welcome guests standing in the cold. Finally, she tossed her hands in the air. "Okay. Come in, but don't expect me to change my mind."

"We're not tryin' to, Carrie darlin'," Sean said sadly. "We just want to get this cleared up."

XXX

Once inside, spirits and humans settled themselves where best they could, Tris not even attempting to find a perch on the ceiling.

"Okay," Carolyn said, after taking a deep breath and a hefty swig of coffee from her Valentine's Day mug. "What happened today?"

Half the crew started talking at once.

"Oh, good grief!" Martha snapped, and walked into the kitchen, returning a second later with a heavy frying pan and wooden spoon, which she clapped together. In the shocked silence that followed, she huffed, "Since I can't thunder, this is the best I could do. Now, if you want her, or anyone to listen, take turns talking."

The offenders looked like guilty schoolchildren.

"Aye, Admiral," Dash saluted.

"Glad she does that to other people, not just me," put in Ed, as he added a teaspoon of sugar to his coffee.

"Guess I can start..." Jenny said, from the rocking chair. Amberly was on her lap, but the child was quiet. "The Captain wasn't RUDE to me, exactly, just distant. I was telling him about some of the stuff I found today, he held Amberly for a minute while I rested my arms, I asked him about baby-sitting next week... he said he had plans... I thought he meant Spectral Fraternity plans... I dunno. And, he looked almost shocked at the idea for a second before he covered. To me, he just didn't seem like himself, but he wasn't mean..."

"Wish I could say that," Tris whispered.

"What'd he say to you?" Thom asked. He hadn't heard yet, after all.

Glumly, Tris replied, "I was doing the whole strolling troubadour thing when we met. He gave me a tip, and I thanked him, calling him Captain. He said it was the wrong rank, and I teased him that he'd have to discuss promotion to Admiral with you, Mrs. Gregg. It went downhill from there, ended with him calling me impudent, and so forth."

"Tris!" Carolyn looked shocked. "Daniel doesn't think you are impudent! Why he was telling me only this morning how much he liked your songs... that they remind him of Tim Seagirt's..." here she blushed a bit. "I don't think he would jump on you like that with no reason..."

Tris's only response was a shrug. "I didn't either, but don't think I forgot doing anything,"

"Well..." Claymore put in, "I for one have NO problems today with anything the Captain has done. He was nice to me today."

Dave lifted his brows. "I'd say we have proof; our Captain's lost his mind. Now, what do we do about it?"

"Hey!"

"Just the truth, Claymore."

"Well, you may have a point. I was sure he would yell at me about my business cards, but it was still a great change from his usual."

"Captain Dad's usual, concerning you, is a lot better than it used to be, Claymore, and you know it!" Candy said, a bit brusquely.

"I know, but..."

"What about the rest of you?" Carolyn interrupted, looking around at the room full of friends and family. "What's your story?"

Slowly and haltingly, the rest of them told their tales.

"Well, I don't care," Candy snapped her fingers in the air. "I won't believe any of this for sure until we hear Dad's side of it. We don't even know it was he. Coulda been Sean Callahan—"

"Why?" Dash asked. "Callahan the First has passed into the light... Even left his blasted descendant a note saying he was, remember?"

"I forgot that," she blushed.

Thom shook his head. "Sounds logical that it couldn't be he. Candy caught me up on all this after we were married. Between the poker at the time, his murder being uncovered, and his bones buried in the family plot, seems like he could call it a day and go on to wherever he needed to go."

"Hope so, or he has been carrying around a heck of a headache for a century and some-odd." Lynne quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

"Really we just ASSUME he did," Martha added. "All we know for sure is he left the Callahan castle."

"Could be Callahan the Fourth," Barnaby mused. "I read his book. Saw his picture. Whether Daniel admits it or not, there is a resemblance, especially if none of us was expecting the man to be anyone but himself."

"Still doesn't say why he would be in Schooner Bay, at an Irish Festival, and without Vanessa or his kids," Jenny pointed out. "Besides, I met him once. Right before Cousin Mom got married. Came close to making a pass at me, remember? He might remember who I was."

"Then again, given Callahan's history, maybe not," Martha snorted.

"I'd just as soon he remember..." Dave put in, from where he had been standing behind the rocker. He put a hand on Jenny's shoulder.

"And, he never let his hair go — natural, shall we say," Tristan quietly said, reminding them obliquely that he had haunted Callahan Castle not that long ago. "Hair dye, Claymore. Invest in that. Long as Sean the Fourth is around, anyway."

"You know..." Barnaby interjected again. "Wouldn't the best thing be for someone to go get Daniel from town, drag him out here, and maybe he can defend himself regarding all this?"

"Finding him will be a problem," Sean admitted. "I've tried to sense him, off and on, when I've been able to take a second to go intangible, but it's like he's not there."

Dash nodded, he had done the same thing.

"Because, he's NOT there," Carolyn insisted. "Besides, as upset as we all are, if Daniel were not on the spectral plane, he'd be here. I'm sure we're all projecting..."

"I think someone ought to go find him," Lynne said, shaking her head. "If he is sick, in some kind of distress, he has to be helped. I'm a human doctor, but surely I can do something..."

Dash leaned over to peck her cheek. "Sweet thought, my dear."

"Aye," Sean agreed.

"Perhaps we are letting our minds think the worst," Molly nodded. "People... spirits included, don't change overnight... there has to be something..."

"I hope so..." Bron's face darkened. "I like it here. I don't want to leave."

Claymore made a choking noise. "You can't!" His hand reached toward his chest.

"Nobody is going anywhere," Carolyn said firmly. "We're going to get this mess straightened out. Claymore, stop that. You CANNOT have a heart incident now."

"Okay," Claymore answered meekly.

"Wish Danny and I had said that ages ago..." Sean smiled, remembering.

"Listen..." Ed cocked his head. "You guys hear a knock?"

"Blackie and Bree and/or Adam and Jess must've made it. Maybe both. See? It didn't take all day to get rid of Miss Grover," Candy nodded.

"She's an old lady, she wears out faster," Tris quipped, clearly looking a bit calmer.

"She's younger than _you_," Carolyn wagged a finger at him as she crossed the room to let whichever party it was in.

"Wait, Carrie," Sean stopped her. "Let Dash and me get it, just in case. We don't know who it is... could be Blackie or Jess, but it could be Daniel. We don't know what kind of a mood he's in."

"Daniel wouldn't knock..." She protested. "He'd pop here, and, I am NOT afraid of him!"

"Daniel's been doing strange things today, darlin."

"I'll say," said Dash, peering out the front window. "It IS Daniel... and Mr. Frisbee just left in his cab!"

"A cab?" his wife frowned. "Why not just poof?"

"This is getting too weird," Claymore fretted.

"It has been for some time," Tristan shot back.

The former first and second mates went to the door, refusing to heed Carolyn's protest. Yanking it open, they grabbed the man on the other side and began dragging him in the house.

Devon tried to resist the manhandling, but they were both strong. "What the devil are you doing?" he yelled, glaring around the room. As he did so, he realized that the two men who had provided his "escort" were the bearded fellow and one of the singers he had admired, and that the impudent guitar player, the two who had sung with his captor, the young woman with the baby, the lanky chap, and the beauty he had approached for a date were all there and staring at him.

"Better question is, what have you been doing all day?" the Irishman retorted.

"Simply enjoying your fair, or trying to! However, I fear that—"

There was a sound behind them as four more people entered the door that had been left open. He recognized the young woman who had prattled about the foundation, but did not recall having seen the other three.

"I know this house is safe, but don't go leaving the blasted door wide open," one of the two men scolded. Then, without pausing continued, "Now, no one panic. All the evidence is not in, and until that time, let's not rush into any action. We stopped and got the phone numbers for Fontenot and Rose's Doc, so if need be, surely one of them can DO something."

"Honey," the pregnant woman said, laying a hand on the fellow's arm, "that's not Daniel."

"He's not a — you-know-what," the other man added uncomfortably. "Nothing on our radar."

Devon frowned. These people were speaking in code. He turned to look in the other direction. One of the older women seemed to be the authority here. There was just something in the way she was watching the drama unfolding that gave that impression.

"Madam, I do not know what is going on, but if you could enlighten me, I would like to sort things out," he said to her as calmly as possible.

Her expression faltered at his first word. "You aren't Daniel?"

"No, a thousand times NO."

"Sean?" she asked hesitantly, "Sean Callahan?"

"Hair's too — natural," the impudent boy said softly. Devon shot him a glare.

"No. I am Devon Edward Miles. I'm not Daniel anything or Sean Callahan. However, I believe that as I have wandered through your hamlet today, some people have believed me to be Daniel Miles."

It must have been a trick of the light, but Devon could have sworn that he saw the two men from the door, the redheaded woman, the older brunette, and the young, blonde man flicker for a second or two, then again. As this was going on, the more vocal of the newcomers said lightly, "Well, good thing you aren't Sean Callahan. Last one of them that impersonated the great man got a guided tour of the cellar. Well, the underside of it, anyway."

"No, the last one found himself in a dinghy in his PJ's," a young, blonde woman giggled.

"Well, the terms of the lease had changed," the cheeky kid grinned at her.

Since he was in the house, it seemed ridiculous to keep the shades on, so Devon took his sunglasses off and folded them into his pocket. As his eyes were revealed, the apparent matriarch and the two youngest women exclaimed in unison, "He's NOT the Captain!"

"How do you know for sure?" Bree asked.

"His eyes," Carolyn beamed. "I know my husband's eyes."

"Windows to the soul," Blackie grinned.

"That's from — Matthew?" Bree asked.

"Got it in one."

Pieces began to fall into place slowly. "Your husband, Daniel Miles, is a Captain?" Devon asked.

"Yes."

"Ah, so you..." he looked at Tristan, "...thought I wanted to be promoted to Admiral, and consider her my — er — his superior officer?"

The young man shrugged. "It was simply a jest. Not among my more elaborate, either."

He looked at Jenny. "Your daughter?" he asked Carolyn.

"Foster, but Daniel and I love all three of our children equally. Amberly's as much his grandchild as if she'd been born of his blood." Carolyn smiled over at Jenny and Dave.

"So, you will babysit next week?" Dave asked hopefully.

"Of course," Carolyn nodded her head.

Dakota decided this was a good point at which to see who this new stranger was and ambled over to take a sniff.

"Dakota, no!" Tristan exclaimed, hoping the dog would obey as if he were his brother. He was a bit chuffed at this Devon fellow, but he knew that was a suit that did not need a dog's sandy paws on it.

"Oh, so that is Dakota," Devon nodded. "Would there be a D.C. or Tribble about?"

"Her kittens," Candy said. "Well, cats now."

Devon absorbed this information. _A DOG who has KITTENS?? _Slowly, he tugged his left earlobe. "I fear, I owe you, or most of you anyway, apo—"

Suddenly, he was cut off when Dash exclaimed, "I should have seen it before! Danny always tugs HIS earlobe, but not that one. The _right_ one."

"The dandy's right," Sean agreed.

"Of course I am."

"While that seems a highly personal remark, I suppose you do have some justification for making it," Devon noted dryly. "As I was saying, I am most contrite for any offense I have given to any and all of you." His gaze moved from Dash, to the O'Caseys, to Tristan, to Jenny, to Bronwyn, and finally to Bree.

"It really is incredible," Martha commented. "So, if he isn't the Captain, will the Captain be home soon, then?"

"I hope so. But —" Carolyn trailed off.

"Those meetings can go on forever," Tristan piped up. "That's why I refuse to go to them."

"The lad has a point," Devon chuckled. "I was at a deadly dull business meeting myself all of yesterday and into today. One of the reasons I elected to take some time, visit your town, and see the festival. I never dreamed of anything happening like this! Agreed. Meetings are never glory and glamour. Just duty. Something one has to live with, I'm afraid."

"I don't," Tris snorted.

"Hmm?"

"Live with them." Molly kicked the younger ghost's ankle. "Hey!"

Trying to change the subject, Carolyn Miles looked around the room at her friends and the man who bore such a strong resemblance to her husband in his adopted persona. "Now that some of the confusion is over, why don't those of us still standing, take a seat, and I'll put on some coffee, or... tea?" She glanced at her guest.

"Tea, thank you." Devon smiled. "If it isn't too much trouble."

"None whatsoever," she smiled back. "And I'm sure Daniel will be home soon."

"And if he's not, we'll crash his meeting and bring him home," Sean interjected. "He's been gone long enough, and I can't wait to see his reaction when he meets you!"

"I think that's the best idea I have heard all day," Dashire nodded his head. "Devon, old boy... tell me... do you like Earl Grey Tea?"

"Let me help you," Martha said, rising from her seat.

XXX

As he materialized in the office of the Schooner Bay Beacon, Daniel Gregg looked at the clock on the wall. Three ten. Amazing. From the way the Captain's meeting had dragged, he expected it to be at least four by the time he returned to his earthly plane! But he was free, that was the important thing. Frowning, he looked at the clock again and sighed, knowing that chances were Carolyn wasn't done with her article yet. _I know her, and if there is one thing I do know is when it comes to her and writing deadlines, Three p.m. means three-thirty, anyway, _he reasoned. _She almost never gets done when she thinks she will. That's why I popped in here first — give her a bit more time to finish — No sense leaning over her shoulder. So I'll use my time wisely. Go look up the rest of the crew first._

Materializing from his 18th century Captain's uniform into his Daniel Miles persona, wearing lean fitting black pants, white turtleneck, and open black jacket with elbow patches, he stepped outside and into the street, shutting and locking the door behind him.

He looked around. Vendors were still busy with the townsfolk and tourists, who seemed determined to buy out every booth there was, or die trying. The kids from the high school dance club were doing an Irish step dance routine on the stageand the smell of good food permeated the air.

The first place he reached was the first aid booth, but Doctor Anderson was inside reading a book and looking bored. Lynne, Dash, and Thom were nowhere in sight. Going on, he passed the booth where the church women had set up their baked goods. As she waved, one of the women shouted that Martha had left, that her pies and cakes had been the first thing to sell, and did he want the last bag of cookies? They were ready to close for the day. Shaking his head, Daniel moved on. Linda Coburn was manning the Dashire Foundation booth and smiling at Graham Gilbert, who was decorating her leg cast with magic marker flower designs.

Going on, he spotted Blackie's crafts booth. The pastor was not there, and it was manned only by Mrs. Abernathy, who waved and said that he had missed Blackie by about fifteen minutes.

_Odd, _Daniel thought. _I ought to see ONE of my crew around somewhere!_ Looking toward the open area set apart for the pony rides, he saw the ring was deserted. _Maybe they all went to Norrie's? _Daniel pondered. _No, that makes no sense. We weren't going to dinner until after the boat show. Besides, it's not late enough to eat yet, and they wouldn't take off without me! Where the deuce can they be?_

Lost in thought, he stopped in front of the Animal Adoption and Relief booth. "Hello!" Jim Wight waved and gestured to the animal pens. "Say, we had a good day! Collected a lot in donations! Didn't expect to see you again!"

Daniel frowned. "Again?"

The vet went on, not hearing his comment. "We did a lot of adoptions today — but I think all the pups and kittens got good homes... You know, I'm not sure Mrs. Miles would be thrilled at the prospect of another pet, but that little Siamese is still here, if you want her."

"Uh..." said the seaman, both startled and puzzled, as he stepped under the tent. "She is a beautiful animal. Always been very fond of Siamese cats, but I'll have to think about it."

"Suit yourself..." the vet answered. "I imagine it will take Dakota, Tribble, and DC a little while to get used to her, too... not to mention her to them! She is the independent sort."

"Right," Daniel nodded, still perplexed. "I'll let you know."

As he stepped out of the booth, he found himself right in front of the town "land-shark," Margaret Coburn.

"I do beg your pardon!" he gave her a friendly smile. "I almost didn't see you there! And how are you this beautiful day?"

"Humph," she sniffed. "You're kind of making a habit of that, aren't you _Mister Miles?"_ She accentuated the words. "I saw you earlier, too. You couldn't bother to say hello to me then!"

"I did?" The spirit gave her another charming smile. "If I did, it was surely a dreadful mistake on my part. One can hardly miss seeing or hearing you..." He paused, if only to make sure his countenance remained sober.

"Oh... ohh... that's quite all right..." Margaret simpered. "I know you've been busy lately, your writing, the play... I saw your_ Camelot _thing... I thought it was marvelous. You should tell that Bronwyn woman to do that show next... You could do Arthur and I'll try out for Guinevere."

"Lovely thought, Madam, but I really don't think I could ever truly act in that with anyone other than my lovely wife," Daniel said, suddenly wishing he were somewhere else. He resolved to be more understanding when Tris, Blackie, and Siegfried ran for cover, or popped, at the first whiff of her strong perfume.

"Oh, I understand..." Margaret answered, almost vaguely, and waved to someone in the distance, in back of Daniel. "George! George Jones! Just the man I needed to see!" She started to step away, then remembered her manners. "Well, if you change your mind, let me know. Bye now..."

A moment later, she was gone, in hot pursuit of the hapless George.

Blowing out a breath, Daniel looked around again. Where was everyone? His blue eyes settled on Charlie Frisbee, who was just getting out of his taxi, two car lengths up, and as the cabbie's eyes focused on the tall seaman, he did a double take. "Say, how can you be here? I just dropped you off at Gull Cottage!"

"What?" If anyone looked more startled than Charlie, it was Daniel.

"Oh, wait... different clothes... You are DANIEL Miles, right?"

"Of course I am," Daniel snapped. "Who else would I be?"

"Maybe your own long-lost relative," Charlie said, scratching his head. "You don't have a brother, do you?"

"What brother?" the spirit answered. "I have no brothers. I'm an only son of an only son."

"I don't mean brother," Charlie corrected himself. "Maybe a long-lost cousin once removed? Something like that? I just took this guy to Gull Cottage not fifteen minutes ago. Mister Miles, he looked enough like you to be your twin. Might be a tad older... wearin' a great lookin' suit, too. If you don't have any long-lost relatives, he's your true doppelganger."

Daniel hissed softly. "Callahan! That fancy-dan is back!" he glared. "Was he alone? Did he have anyone with him?" he asked, wondering if the writer had brought this century's Vanessa. Even if the last time they met had been seventeen years ago, he wasn't sure he wanted to be — or wanted to have Carolyn subjected to HER again... even if now Carolyn could hold her own against anyone.

"Nope," Charlie scratched his chin. "No, he was alone."

Daniel hissed again. _"I need to get out there,"_ he whispered.

"Say, Mister Miles..." Charlie Frisbee started. "I think most of your family has left for the day — that horse guy is around, somewhere, mebbie. You need a lift up to Gull Cottage?"

"No..." Daniel shook his head, grimly. "I have my own transportation. Thanks." Turning on his heel, the spirit looked around once more for any sign of a familiar face, and then started rapidly walking toward the SBB offices. Stepping inside and locking the door again, he dematerialized, and appeared with an audible 'pop' directly in front of Devon Miles. "What the...? Callahan?" Slowly he turned to his wife, standing next to him. "Carolyn? What on earth is going on here?"

There was a second of shocked silence, and then Martha said loudly, "Why, Mr. Miles, I've told you a hundred times, don't come sneaking in like you just did! You'll scare a dozen years off someone doing that! I've always said, you're quiet as a — a mouse!"

Ignoring her, Devon snapped, "WHO the devil is this Callahan person that everyone keeps accusing me of being now that it has been established that I am not Daniel Miles? And HOW did you just — just appear out of thin air?"

"Take the Fifth," Adam advised under his breath.

"Daniel," Carolyn began helplessly. "We've had some — excitement and confusion today."

"I gathered that, my dear," he agreed.

"And, I need to say something," she went on, crossing the slight distance that separated them to reach up and pull him into a kiss.

"I dare say, old son, we need have no fears in respect to their marriage," Dash chuckled to Sean as the embrace stretched on.

The silence was broken with a crash of thunder as Siegfried popped into the middle of the room. "THERE YOU ARE!" he roared, his eyes falling on Devon. "HOWDAREYOUACCOSTBRONWYN UPSETMYBABY BROTHER ANDBETRAY CAROLYN?" Gathering himself for a second rush of words, the ghost went on, "Ichallengeyoutoaduel,hereandnow. Dash,willyousecond?"

Devon blinked. "Pardon?"

"Wellyoushouldaskmypardon,butyouaren't GOING TO GET IT!"

Across the room, Tristan craned his neck to look at the ceiling. "We're doomed. Sunk. And to think, one step out of line, half a step even, and I catch Hades. But he can get away with this. Ah, me," the youngest ghost mused to no one in particular.

"Sig," Lynne whispered urgently. "COOL IT."

Bronwyn, deciding that there was not much more damage that could be done than had been, simply popped to Siegfried's side. Laying a gentle hand on his arm, she said, "Rob, love, calm yourself. Please."

"Calm myself? Bronwyn, I'm defending your honor, and my brother's. You are ever after me to be nicer to him!"

"Look," she admonished, bodily turning him so he could see Carolyn and Daniel who had broken off their kiss in the commotion, as well as Devon. "There's been a wee bit of a mix-up, dear."

The Englishman gulped, looking from one to the other.

"I can see where there would be," Daniel said. "To the — casual observer, this fellow and I do appear to resemble each other, strongly." He rubbed his chin. "Of course, I am slightly younger."

"Ha," Claymore snorted, still disappointed that his 'uncle' hadn't been nice to him, for a fact.

"Shut it, Clay," Adam hissed.

"My chin is squarer," Devon countered. "And, I do believe my hair is more silver."

"I've never worn a suit like that," Daniel observed.

"Well, your jacket is out of date, hopelessly so."

"Got you there, Danny," Dash smirked.

Daniel gave his old friend a glare. "I'm a bit taller."

"Oh, stop it, both of you," Carolyn cut in. "I know who my husband is. You, Daniel, and I think it's clear to everyone now that you are you."

Daniel reached up to tweak his right earlobe.

"You're definitely correct, Dash. The right one," Sean agreed.

"WHATISGOINGON?" Siegfried demanded.

"I would like to know as well," Devon said. "Another difference between Daniel and myself would be that I cannot simply appear out of nothing."

"I think you misinterpreted what you saw," Adam suggested, knowing it wouldn't work.

"I find that highly unlikely, sir. I am trained to see things properly, including that which is hidden. I was in the OSS," Devon retorted. "And, I know I saw not one, but two men appear and a woman transport herself without taking a step. Now, I would like an explanation."

For a second, Daniel considered trying to wipe the man's mind, but doubted it was possible. He had heard of the OSS, and knew that such training would make this man too strong-willed to easily brainwash. Moreover, it simply seemed wrong to try and do that to someone who could be his twin, if he had one. With a sigh, he let his face morph into his more comfortable, real one. Devon's eyes grew wide as Daniel said pleasantly, "It's quite simple. I am a ghost. The Ghost of Daniel Elias Alexander Gregg."

"I give up. Amberly will simply have to learn to keep her mouth shut about this stuff in public," Dave muttered.

"In that case," Tristan said. "He's not the only one." On that note, he drifted to the ceiling. Once there, he waved.

"Off," Martha barked. "I won't have your muddy footprints on my clean ceiling."

"But, I don't leave them when I'm incorporeal," the boy protested, but floated back down.

"Ghosts?" Devon's cool reserve faltered. "You are all — ghosts?"

"No, just the dead folks," Dash said. "Daniel, Siegfried — that would be the loud chap who challenged you to a duel, Tristan, Sean, Molly, Bronwyn, and myself." To drive the point home, he shifted his features into the beardless, bespectacled countenance his wife had grown fond of.

"Just the—" Devon cleared his throat.

"There are a few more of us," Daniel allowed, "but we do have Applegate well settled, so it would be a shame to disturb him. My nerves couldn't take him, anyway. Not today. And I do not consider Amos, Jim, Paul, Matthew, Simon, or Jason official crew members. Fontenot is in Seattle."

"And we wish it was closer," Candy whispered.

"What's a Fontenot?" Devon asked.

"A ghost guru," Blackie said.

"And you imagine he could dispose of me for you?" Devon looked amused.

"Oh, I'm capable of that without help," Daniel assured him.

"He is, he is," Claymore nodded.

"But, I don't think we need go to extremes. I rather imagine what my daughter meant was, she is sure that he would have, even in tangible form, seen that you were not I, and sorted all this out with less trouble. He's been a ghost a very long time."

"Ah. Of course, if you were not borrowing my face and name, we would not have had it to begin with," Devon countered.

"Borrowing? I borrowed nothing," Daniel thundered. "That is the face I would have had, sans beard, had I not kicked the blasted gas heater with my blasted foot. If I showed up in Schooner Bay wearing the face I died in, I'd cause a panic. Everyone would suspect me of being a zombie. As to the name..." He frowned and looked at Adam. "Why do I have the name of Miles again?"

"Because I was panicked at the time and had to come up with something to call you on the spur of the moment so as to get the various in and outlaws off of Carolyn's back about remarrying now that the chicks were out of the nest," Adam said. "It was a pun. Believing Carolyn safely engaged to you, they would stay 'miles' away." He shrugged. "Besides, it was your grandmother on the Gregg side's maiden name."

"Dearest," Jess said tightly, "you are doing nothing to reassure me that Junior will not get a funky name while my back is turned."

"I already have a five-mile list of names not to use, love. Though if you would simply let me find out whether it's a boy or girl, the job would be easier."

"It is... a boy or a girl," she sweetly countered.

"Jess..."

"Peeking is cheating. I want to be surprised, although..."

"Although, what?"

"Girls do run in my family."

"Jess..."

Wishing to avoid getting embroiled in another "is it a boy or a girl" discussion in front of a relative stranger, albeit a familiar one, Carolyn interrupted them.

"Daniel, we were just going to sit down and get everything sorted out, as much as was possible without anyone telling about ghosts, before you and Sig — uh... came home. Now that the cat's out of the bag, we can sort better. Any problems with that idea?"

The seaman shook his head. "None, whatsoever. Our only option really. After all..." He looked about the room, but particularly at Bree Montgomery, the newest mortal to be let in on things. "So far I feel our little... idiosyncrasies, if you will, have been well kept. And if Mr. Miles here has kept secrets during his time serving in the OSS, I see no reason we can't trust him with ours." He chuckled, drawing Carolyn close. "It would seem I have to trust him with my face. At least part of the time!"

Laughter rang in the room, and Devon Miles sank gratefully into a center position on the couch, Molly flanking him on one side with Sean standing on her other, and Lynne positioned on the other side, with Dash next to her. The others found places soon enough, most noticeably Tris, who was sitting cross-legged, Indian style in mid-space.

"What?" he said, giving his brother and Martha a look. "You told me not to sit on the ceiling. I'm not!"

"I didn't mean..." The housekeeper started to protest, then stopped and smiled. "Never mind. Sounds like you have had a day of it, and we ARE a little light on chairs, here."

Devon raised an eyebrow at the young man. He did look rather odd, but it had been a long and confusing day, and at the moment, he didn't feel like starting anything. He looked at his watch, and then at the group, a touch of concern on his face.

"This all sounds fascinating, and I can't wait to be a little more filled in, but it just occurred to me... my... driver should be arriving in town before too much longer, and he doesn't know I am here. Would you mind if I used your phone to give him a ring? Let him know where I am?"

"Not at all." Carolyn's response was automatic. "There's a phone right here on the end table, or, if you need your privacy..." Breaking off, she glanced at her husband, a trace of doubt in her eyes. They didn't know THAT much about this fellow after all!

"Oh, I can call from here," Devon answered quickly. "And don't worry — the other end will pick up the charges." He paused and tugged his left ear again. "It's a... car phone."

"Those are great," Adam grinned. "Especially now with the baby coming. No way can we miss anything."

"You, you mean!" Jess grinned at him. "I'm quite sure I will know if anything happens!"

"Behave," he whispered, and slid his hand into hers.

"When you do," she smiled back. "Shh. He's dialing."

Pressing a rapid sequence of numbers onto the keypad of the princess telephone, Devon made a connection. "Hello? Michael?" There was a pause. "Yes Michael, it's I, Devon." He paused again, listening to the voice on the other end. "Michael, look, I understand about court running long and traffic jams, and..." There was another pause. "Yes, of course I do, I'm not totally unbendable, you know. Unexpected things happen. Yes... Yes... Michael, _will _you be quiet a minute? I told you, take what time you need, but listen. I'm not in downtown Schooner Bay... What do you mean, what happened? Nothing happened, that is, that I can go into at the moment. I just wanted to tell you I am about two miles from the fair area. Yes, I am. Yes, I'm at a charming house called Gull Cottage. No, I have no idea if it is on a map. Look, you take Bay Road straight out of town, and then there is another street called..." He looked at the crowd.

"Gregg Road," Daniel whispered.

"...Gregg Road, go about a quarter mile. You'll see it. Only place for miles, I think. Beautiful area. No, Michael... no, no problems... Michael, I mean it. No need for turbo boost. Yes. Yes, I'm sure. Fine. See you in about... what? Forty-five minutes to an hour? All right... listen, don't speed. Take all the time you need. Right, Michael. Yes, goodbye." He shrugged as he hung up. "That young man worries too much."

"Relative?" Candy asked.

"No, just an... employee, of sorts," the Englishman said, trying to decide how best to describe the working relationship he had with the younger man. _Somewhere between associate and employee_, he pondered. _After all, Wilton Knight hand-picked him, not I._

Molly shook her head and looked from her husband, to Daniel to Carolyn and finally to Devon, seated next to her. "I can't believe I didn't think of the obvious," she started, looking embarrassed. "Especially as long as Sean and I have known Daniel! He wasn't acting like himself because he WASN'T himself — sayin' he couldn't sing and getting snappy when we suggested it! Truly, Mr. Miles, no offense was meant."

"I know that, my dear," Devon smiled at her. "However, I did mean what I said about getting some of your songs recorded. I didn't get a chance to hear them all, but I know I would definitely love to hear more. If finding a studio that you can afford and technicians you can work with is an issue, and I could see how it might be, actually, just give me a call when you, your husband, Dave, and..." He glanced toward the ceiling, where Tris had drifted once more, "...Tristan is it? Are ready, and I daresay I can dig up a recording studio, somewhere in this area that would accommodate you, either for a very small fee, or gratis."

"That would be... fantastic!" Dave was astounded. "Thank you, Mister Miles!"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Do call me Devon..." He looked about the room. "...all of you. I think it's easier, in this case. As for your remark, my dear..." He faced Molly once more. "I think the reason you didn't know I wasn't Daniel is because you weren't EXPECTING someone besides Daniel. I have learned over the years that a great deal of what we see is based on what we expect."

"I heartily agree..." The Captain laughed as he morphed from his bearded face, to barefaced and back again. "But sometimes, around here, it is STILL difficult to know what to anticipate!"

Devon blinked at his host, and frowned slightly as Tris started drifting down from the ceiling again. "You have a point. But I am guilty, also..." His eyes shifted to Bree, who was sharing a large ottoman with Candy. "I became terribly confused when... Bree, correct? Came to me with her plans for "The Foundation." Got totally carried away... I thought she was talking about the _FLAG_ Foundation, I'm in charge of that, you see, and, with how strangely the rest of the day was progressing, I jumped to the conclusion that she was thinking about planning a cotillion for MY Foundation, which of course, unfortunately, would not be in keeping."

Blackie nodded. "You see, Bree? I told you there had to be an explanation!"

"I still think it's ironic," Bree started, glancing at Blackie, "that we found out I was the great-great-great-granddaughter of Uncle-Lord-Dashire here purely by accident or luck, and Mr. Miles... I mean Devon here isn't. That's... well, it's really, REALLY strange."

"No stranger than anything else that has happened today, really," Dash answered. "Or, at various times over the years! But it is amazing. One of the definite drawbacks of ghosts taking on a solid state. Not being able to sense other ghosts. Had we but thought..."

"Hindsight is always 20-20," Carolyn smiled. "I've learned that over time. Can't spend your life looking backwards!"

"Aye," several voices chorused, and Daniel squeezed her hand again. Then, out of nowhere, Tribble, one of Dakota's remaining kittens, now a young cat, hopped up on Devon's lap, unbidden.

"Ho!" Devon exclaimed. "Unexpected, indeed! Now, then! Who do we have, here?"

"That's Tribble," Martha answered. "Tribble! You crazy cat! Mister Miles didn't ask for your company! Get off him immediately! You'll get hair all over his nice suit!"

The cat merely closed her eyes, tucked her paws under her, and tried to get more comfortable.

"Sorry, Devon," Carolyn looked apologetic, and started toward the animal.

"No... Don't," Devon smiled as he held up one hand to wave his hostess away, and started stroking the cat with the other. "I'm flattered. Let her... it is a her, isn't it? Hard to tell under the hair... let the kitty stay. She seems comfortable. I can clean off my suit later. So tell me..." he continued. "Are all the little towns lining the Maine seacoast full of ghosts?"

"I hope not..." Claymore muttered to himself.

"We haven't taken a census," Daniel said dryly. "I heard that, Claymore. But somehow, I rather doubt it."

"Oh... I rather thought you would know — you know, sense such things. No offense meant."

"It that was the case, I would have been much happier, much sooner." Sean smiled down at his wife, still seated next to him. "Molly and I were separated during our lifetime, and it took us both the rest of our lives, and another hundred years and more in the spirit realm before we found each other again."

"I see... So you lived here in Schooner Bay before Daniel?" he asked, looking at Daniel Gregg. "Blast," he added, tugging his left ear again. "I must say, sir, it is STILL a bit disconcerting to see 

my own face, or nearly, staring back at me. And beard or not, it is my face. Damned unusual to know I am sharing it."

"Sorry, but it HAS been my face for quite some time."

"No need to be, my good man," Devon grinned. "You are a tad older than I — have a prior claim, you know. Just takes some getting used to." He turned back to Sean. "So, you and your wife have been haunting Schooner Bay with Daniel for the last hundred years?"

"No," Sean shook his head. "Molly was in Ireland for about a century. I was reported dead before I was, she moved to Ireland with her parents, and I spent my life and most of my afterlife searching for her. She happened to show up here two years ago, and we've been making up for lost time ever since."

"Sean!" Molly blushed as she looked up at her husband, then looked at their guest. "Actually Daniel has been here the longest, consistently. Daniel, you should tell this part..."

"Aye," Dash put in. "Especially now that the story is straight."

And so, starting with his "blasted foot's" encounter with the "blasted gas heater" and continuing until Dash brought his family back home, Daniel laid out his biography.

"After that, it seems like ghosts started popping up all over the place," Claymore piped up from his corner. "All in the last thirteen years or so. First my uncle Daniel, Dash, Sean, Tristan, Siegfried, Molly, Bron... am I missing anyone?"

"I am NOT your blasted uncle, or anything else, you wimpy walrus!" Daniel thundered. "Continue referring to me as such, and you will have forgotten yourself among the ghosts. And yes, you have. Fontenot and Applegate."

"Am, too — you just don't want to believe it, and you won't listen to me. Sorry about forgetting Fontenot. I like him. Even if he is scary sometimes. As for Elroy Applegate..." The lanky man shuddered. "I only TRY to forget him! Taking his head off, and all, he..."

"Claymore, you are going to give Devon the wrong idea about spirits," Lynne cut in. "The rest of this bunch... May I, Carolyn?" At her hostesses' nod, she continued. "...Are as human as you are, Devon." She started gesturing in a circle around the room. "Candy and Jenny are Carolyn's daughters. Candy, by Carolyn's first husband, Jenny is really a cousin, so foster, but we keep forgetting that. Best family sometimes is the ones you aren't related to by blood, just love. Dave is Jenny's husband, and Amberly is THEIR daughter. Thom is Candy's husband, but he also happens to be my son, so that's how I got into the family. Charlie is my guy... husband... also a spirit. You knew that. He learned to be corporeal ages ago, just like all the other spirits here. Yes, it can be done... no, we don't know exactly how, they just do and we are very happy about it." She gave her husband's hand another squeeze. "Then... let's see..." She started pointing again. "There's Jon, but he's at college at the moment, and Martha..." she pointed, "...Was Carolyn's housekeeper when she moved here."

"Still am," Martha pointed out. "Sometimes."

"Just a second, I'm on a roll here," Lynne sniffed. "Now, where was I?"

When she reached Bree, Devon asked how they had determined the blood relationship. Not sure if that was strictly their secret to tell, Lynne simply said that one of the better photos Dash had of his grandchildren matched a picture of Bree's great-grandmother, and they were able to deduce from there. He seemed impressed by the detective work. Then, he asked again, "Now, how does that Callahan chap you keep mentioning fit in? Another relative?"

Thunder boomed.

"That no good wharf rat is no kin of mine!" Daniel spat out. "Am I forever going to be defending myself against that sea-slug?"

"Bad question?" Devon raised an eyebrow.

"Sensitive one," Carolyn said, calming her husband by reaching up and playing with the curls at the base of his neck. "I'll tell this part. Callahan, the First, like yourself, lived in my husband's time, and bore a startling resemblance to my husband, but they were no more alike than the sun and the moon." She paused. The next portion of the story, while well known in the family, was still a sensitive issue to her husband. "Callahan the First romanced and... well... shall we say, won away Daniel's fiancé when they were all alive. He turned out to be a real no-good-nick though, and when he tried to run out on Vanessa, who he had met here one evening when Daniel was still at sea, Vanessa, near as we can figure out, bashed his head in with a fireplace poker and she and her housekeeper buried him in the cellar. We didn't find his bones until about three years after we moved here. Our dog at the time, Scruffy, found them. Things were touch and go there for a while, because, after all how can you defend or disprove a case when all parties have passed on, but eventually things were cleared up when we found an old letter with a confession."

"He does sound like England's best definition of a blighter," Devon nodded. "Does he haunt? Is that why you thought I could be he?"

"Not anymore, we don't think," Tris said, from his perch. "But Callahan the first produced not only a child by Vanessa, but also a... I guess you could call him a legitimate heir, and..."

"And Callahan the Fourth looks a lot like Daniel, only with a beard, last time I saw him," Carolyn added, tactfully not mentioning Tris' more recent contact with him. "We don't think he's quite the blighter the prior version was."

"So when you weren't acting like Daniel, we wondered if you couldn't be either Callahan the First, back again, or Callahan the Fourth, visiting, although for what reason, I couldn't imagine."

"In short, Callahan is no relation of mine," Daniel growled. "I'm the only son of an only son," he said tightly, looking first at Devon Miles and then at Claymore Gregg.

"I wish I had a nickel for every time I have heard that," the landlord sighed.

"I don't suppose, given how much you look alike that you and Devon, are related, Uncle Daniel?" Jenny asked from her corner, where Amberly was napping off and on in her lap. "Even distant cousins in some way? Related somehow through the generations, like Dash and Bree? Or like I might be to Tris and Sig, through my birth mom _maybe_ being Isolde's grandchild?"

Daniel shook his head. "No, my dear, I don't think so, for the same reason. Now you know that my family — my legitimate family..." Here he glared at Claymore once more. "...Lived in Schooner Bay for more than three-hundred years..."

"Yeah, remember, Ephraim Elias Gregg founded Schooner Bay Grammar School, March 15, 1741," chanted Candy. "I have it from a highly reliable authority, in fact unquestionable, source, whose name I am not at liberty to divulge." She grinned.

"Let's not forget the _lovely _Theresa," Carolyn added, sneaking a look at her husband. "HE certainly never did!"

"...And not only that, but..."

"MY ancestors have been in England since Henry the Seventh," Devon countered.

"Never mind," Bron interjected, from where she and Sig were seated on the piano bench they had brought in. "I suppose not. This whole thing is just a big coincidence."

"I should think so!" the two 'Miles' said together.

"Wait..." Tris pondered. "Maybe he's..." he started, pointing to Devon. "...Look, one double I can buy — like the Captain and Callahan. Three is downright weird." He pointed at Devon. "Maybe Devon is kin to Callahan!"

Devon's eyebrow went up and for a moment he stopped stroking Tribble, who was still in his lap. "Callahan? Hardly. He's Irish, of course. I'm British, through and through."

"Callahan DID get around," Adam quipped.

"No with MY ancestors, he didn't," Devon said, giving the lawyer a look that reminded him a great deal of the "cold, hard, beady eye" Daniel COULD give when he wanted to.

"Still think I'll check out that book and see if Sean Callahan the First visited England before he landed underground," mused Tris.

Carolyn cast a warning eye on the younger ghost.

"Tris, leave well enough alone."

"Exactly," Daniel and Devon chorused. "Don't be ridiculous," and the clan watched as both men adjusted their shirt cuffs in the same fluid motion. Several members of the crew stifled the laughter they could feel bubbling up in their throats.

"So," said Dash, morphing the glasses off his face so he could get a clear look at their visitor. "It now seems that you know all about us, what do we know about you really? What brings you to Schooner Bay, besides an Irish Festival?"

Stroking the cat, and then scratching her ears, Devon considered the question for a minute, and then decided the Hell with it. His secret was no larger than theirs, certainly.

"Well, believe it or not, I do know something about dead men walking around with faces that aren't always their own. I work for the Foundation for Law and Government, FLAG. We deal with criminals who operate outside of channels that conventional laws can deal with. Our primary... agent is a young man my oldest friend Wilton Knight rescued from certain death. His face had been destroyed, but Wilton reshaped it, and gave him a new identity to go along with the look. He also, before dying, made him the pilot of the Knight Industries 2000, KITT, the most sophisticated artificial intelligence in existence. He's spent today testifying in court, and I was going to accompany him, but he and KITT pointed out that I need not baby-sit him, and so left me off at your festival after I had expressed regret at missing the celebrations back home."

"I see..." Adam nodded. "Knight Industries. I know that name. I read the company profile while making some investments for my... clients."

"He means me," Dash waved. "He and his ancestors have been keeping me quite solvent since I died."

Devon shook his head and blinked. _First ghosts, then solid ghosts, now ghosts with staff. What comes next? Time Travel? _"So you see," he went on, "no man is without his secrets. As you trust me to keep your secrets, I can trust you to do the same?"

"Of course," was his answer.

"Thank you," Devon smiled, and then cast a speculative look at the Captain. "I don't suppose you'd care to be me for a day, once in a while, and sit in on a Foundation meeting?"

"I think not. Though, I sincerely doubt it could be half as boring as a spectral fraternity meeting!" Daniel quickly responded as the doorbell rang.

"That's most likely Michael," Devon said. "Unless you are expecting still another spirit to show up."

"Not us," Daniel replied quickly. "Elroy gets lost and Fontenot, I trust, is still in Seattle." He rubbed his beard. "I think I will answer that."

A moment later, he materialized in the foyer and opened the door.

"Hello there..." Michael Knight said hesitantly as he stood eye to eye with the tall seaman. "Is there a Devon Miles here?"

"Aye," Daniel nodded, stroking his moustache. "Do come in. He's been waiting for you."

"Uh, sure," the young man responded. "And you are?"

"Daniel Gregg," said Daniel, keeping a straight face.

"Ah... have we ever met?" Michael asked, stepping inside and taking off his leather jacket.

"I don't believe so," the seaman responded. "This way."

"Right," Michael agreed, following him, and in the living room he stopped and gaped. There was Devon Miles, sitting on the couch, flanked by not one, but two very attractive older women, and, more amazing than that, there was a cat on his lap. Purring. Loudly.

"Uh, hello?" he said uncertainly.

"Hello, Michael. Don't just stand there staring," Devon chided.

Michael stepped farther into the room. There were quite a few lovely women there, a fact that he found comforting. "Is everything — okay?" he asked. While it did not look like his boss was being held hostage, something about this situation felt odd.

"Quite," Devon nodded. "Do sit down."

As the younger man started to do so, a voice erupted from his watch. "Michael, is Devon all right?"

Looking annoyed, he spoke to his wrist, "Yeah, buddy. Everything seems to be on the up and up. I think."

"Let me know if you change your mind."

"I'll do that."

"Michael, I told them about KITT," Devon said, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "These people are quite trustworthy."

Mr. Knight continued to look skeptical, asking, "Why did you leave the — festival thing to come out here?"

"There was a slight mix-up. It seems that everyone in town was under the impression that was I was Daniel," Devon explained.

Michael looked from Devon to the Captain. "No offense, but I think an optometrist could make a killin' in this town."

"We have one," Martha said blandly. "Not sure how much of a killing he makes."

"Perhaps this would help," Daniel said, shifting his features so that he resembled Devon, except for his outfit.

Blinking, Michael shook his head and looked again. "Now, I know you didn't look like that when you opened the door." His wrist began to rise.

"There is nothing to be concerned about. I would like my new friends to meet KITT, but there is no need to summon him," Devon remonstrated. "It's quite simple. Daniel, and a few others here, are ghosts."

"And, my public name is Miles, thanks to an odd coincidence," the Captain added.

"And, since Schooner Bay is a rather — proper town," Carolyn put in, "all day, everyone was calling him Mr. Miles, thinking he was — MY Mr. Miles."

"Ghosts?" Michael repeated. "Spooks? Rattling chains? Woo-woo stuff?"

"Oh, good grief," Tristan sighed. "We hardly resort to cheap parlor tricks. Though if you insist..." He popped out, then back in, behind Michael, where he yelled, "BOO!" in his ear.

"Stand down, Seaman Matthews," Daniel rumbled, holding in his amusement at their guest's look of shock.

"Simply trying to help, sir," Tristan shrugged.

"You are cheeky," Devon shook his head.

"Amen," Siegfried agreed.

"Yes, I am."

"He — just — teleported," Michael said slowly, pointing vaguely.

"We've recently decided we prefer the term transmatted," Dash said pleasantly. "Though, teleport does have a better sound than 'poof' and/or 'pop'."

"Uh — right."

"So, you see, Michael," Devon said, adjusting his cuffs, "they have secrets that really outweigh something like KITT."

"You are all ghosts?" Michael asked, still looking bewildered.

"Nope," Blackie said. "Just the Captain, Sean, Molly, Bronwyn, Siegfried, Dash, and the cheeky one, Tristan."

"Right. Now, let's go see KITT," Devon said. "If Tribble will allow it, that is."

"Allow me," Siegfried said, stepping over to retrieve the tabby.

The family followed the two men from the Foundation outside where they saw a black T-top with a red light running across its hood waiting by the gate.

"Allow me to introduce KITT," Devon said, noting with a bit of pleasure how Tristan, Dave, Thom, Blackie, Bree, Jenny, and Candy's faces lit as they looked upon the AI. "Say hello, KITT."

"Hello," the car said. Then, in a puzzled voice added, "Devon, my visual scanners are detecting seven more people present than my thermal scanners do. I think perhaps I need to bring this to Bonnie's attention before our next case."

"No need to worry, pal," Michael said. "They're ghosts."

"Ghosts? Really, Michael."

Daniel winced. "What's wrong?" Carolyn whispered.

"That voice. Something about it gets under my skin, as it were."

"I heard that," KITT announced.

"Sorry. I'm sure you cannot help your programming," Daniel apologized. "I would like to know where I heard that voice before, though."

"Say something else, please, KITT," Tristan urged. "I think I might know."

"I am the voice of the Knight Industries Two Thousand. KITT, for short."

"Got it," the youngest ghost beamed at his Captain. "Blair Thompson. It even looks like his car."

"The one you took me for a ride in?" Daniel asked. "By Jove, you're right, boy. Why on earth would you put that bounder's voice in your car, Devon?"

"Blair Thompson? He ran for office a while back, did he not?" Devon frowned. "KITT's vocal patterns had been selected before Mr. Thompson came to our attention."

Daniel frowned, but did not want to offend anyone without reason, so he said, "You — ah — wear your voice better than Mr. Thompson, KITT. It is much more suited to you."

"Thank you, Mr. Ghost."

"Er — call me Daniel," the Captain suggested, tugging on his ear.

"Thank you, Daniel."

"Though I might point out," Adam mused, "that it is partly Blair's fault that you two have the same public name. He was one of the people trying to force marriage down Carolyn's throat."

"I suppose we are fortunate that he did not gain the Presidency, then," Devon noted. "So, would any of you, with KITT's permission, of course, like to take a ride?"

"I would be glad to give them a ride," KITT offered. "Who's first?"

"Daniel should be first, since he is the — Captain," Devon suggested.

"I have not had that much experience driving modern land craft," Daniel admitted. "I suppose, Carolyn could do the driving?" He gave the car a chary look, wondering if perhaps IT was bigger on the inside than outside. Somehow, he doubted he could be so fortunate.

"Yes, I could," Carolyn agreed.

"Oh, there's no need of that," Devon smirked. "Just get behind the wheel, Daniel. Of course, Carolyn is welcome to ride with you, but I do insist on you being in the driver's seat."

The Captain gave him a dubious glance, but did as requested. When Carolyn began to get in on the other side, he started to propose that she wait. After all, a crash could harm her.

"She will be perfectly safe, old boy," Devon promised, closing the door behind Mrs. Gregg. "KITT, have a nice ride."

Before the ghost could so much as touch the ignition, the car came to life and took off down the road.

"What's going on?" Lynne asked.

"KITT is doing the driving," Michael grinned. "Probably showing off a little."

"The CAR drives itself?" Barnaby asked.

"Yep."

"Could be handy," the normally pedestrian professor nodded.

When the couple returned, Daniel popped out and went around to let Carolyn exit. "Who's next?" KITT asked. In twos and threes, everyone took their turn.

As they watched, Tristan said, "You know, my birthday is not that far off and Christmas is less than a year off. A KITT would be a — fantastic gift. In fact, it could cover all occasions for the next century or so. Wouldn't be as good as — HIM, of course, but I could — live with a slightly inferior model."

"We could share it — him, whatever," Dave added.

"We will assemble one for you, for fifty million dollars, American currency," Devon informed them.

"F-fifty million?" Claymore gulped. "You're gonna have to lower the price if you expect to dent the market."

"Oh, well," Tristan dismissed the idea good-naturedly. "Hurt nothing to make the suggestion. Besides, I've been given a pretty good gift today."

"Thank-you, Tristan," KITT said as Lynne and Dash climbed in. "I must say, you are a good pilot."

"Thanks, and a ride in you is certainly worth mentioning as a gift," the young ghost grinned. "But, I had in mind what Sig did. Thanks, my brother, for standing up for me."

"Well, naturally, afterallyouare-mybrother," Siegfried blustered. "I simply proved that foolishness does not confine itself to you in our family."

"And, thank you for — defending my marriage," Carolyn added, leaning against her husband. "Even if it doesn't need it."

"But, next time you challenge me, the term is seaman, not sailor," Daniel winked. "You know, I did pop without checking, too."

"It was sweet," Bronwyn agreed. "I appreciate the defense of my honor. No one's ever done that, offstage." She popped over to Sig and laid a kiss on his lips. "A reward for valor."

"My dear, I _was _willing to fight for you," Daniel said to Carolyn. "Not only Siegfried, if necessary, but either Callahan."

"I would say you're sweet, but I know how you feel about that," she grinned. "I trust a kiss is adequate payment?"

"Down payment, yes."

When Dash and Lynne's turn ended, Michael and the other younger men gathered around the vehicle to discuss what various buttons do. Naturally, Tris wanted to try the turbo boost, but that idea was squashed.

"They appear to be in their element," Devon observed as he stood beside Daniel and Carolyn to watch. "Poor Michael, though. None of the young ladies here seem to be taken with him, just with KITT." In a pensive moment, he added, "There are times I wonder about the wisdom of choosing him for this project."

"Oh, I don't know," the ghostly 'Mr. Miles' countered. "I think, given time, he could well work out. Once, I knew a lad who was impulsive, impetuous, and gave me no end of trouble. He died all too young, and I never had a chance to see how he would turn out, had he had the chances I had to overcome such flaws. But, though it did take more than a hundred years, I would say that he has shaped up rather well." As if feeling the eyes on him, Tristan turned to wave at the others and called for Candy and Jenny to come see the stereo in KITT.

"Sounds as if there's a story there," Devon commented.

"A rather long one, aye," Daniel nodded.

"Jon's going to turn green when we tell him what he missed," Candy's voice drifted back.

"She's right," Carolyn murmured.

"Jon? The son you mentioned?" Devon asked.

"Yes. He considered cutting a college class or two to come see the festival, but decided to be responsible," Carolyn smiled. "I can't blame him for being ill when he hears about KITT. I don't suppose you two — three — could stay over for tomorrow's round of Irish celebrations? You really didn't get to truly enjoy it. If we call Jon tonight, and he's not too tired, he could be here by... maybe nine or so. Then he could see KITT," she continued.

"That's a great idea, Mom," Candy said, coming back to where her parents were standing. "Of course if Michael drives KITT to the fair area, you'll have people thinking he is part of the exhibitions."

"Oh, I'm sure Devon, Michael and KITT have...plans?" Daniel said, clearly wishing that perhaps the three could stay. After all, it isn't every day you run into a double of yourself... especially this man, who was not Callahan, but felt more like a confederate, of sorts.

"I think a little damage control might not be such a bad idea," Adam interjected, joining them with Jess. "That is unless we WANT Daniel to acquire a reputation of being extremely eccentric, rude, amnesiac, or a combination of them all."

"That cabbie saw both of us," Daniel put in. "First Devon, and then me," he added reluctantly. More time with these new friends would be interesting, in all the best ways.

"The fair is a large area to cover," said Dash, standing with Lynne. "I think it would be good if you were to both show up. Maybe you could bend the truth and be a long-lost something or other, Devon? Michael could be, well, he as a business associate of yours, along for the festival, too. What do you say, crew?" he continued, looking around at the rest of the family, who had joined them. "Can we get these three to stay?"

"Oh, great," Claymore groused. "HE'S not related and I am, but you're all set to claim HIM as a relative. And after only a few minutes, too, when I've been saying I am for decades! That's NOT fair!"

Thunder rumbled, although KITT's atmospheric scanners could detect no storms.

"I never said that Devon was related to Daniel Gregg, but to Daniel MILES," the Captain bit out. "Furthermore, you are certainly not related to ME under any name."

"Plus, you have to concede that Devon and Uncle Daniel look at lot more alike than you and Uncle Daniel," Jenny added. She could still remember being taken aback when she first heard the notion that Claymore might somehow be related to the Captain.

"Pushing it makes you sound like Mordred, you know," Blackie added. "And remember what his dad said, "the term blood is thicker than water was coined by unworthy relations." Best off not using it."

"We won't be doing that play, I hope," Daniel muttered. "The land-shark wants to be Guinevere to my Arthur."

"I suppose it should be up to Devon, Michael and KITT," Carolyn put in. "But we do have a guest room for both of you."

Devon looked at Michael, and Michael at Devon, and then the Englishman picked up Tribble, who had been making figure-eights around his feet.

"I think I, for one, would like that very much," he answered. "What do you say, Michael?"

Michael Knight looked at his boss, wide-eyed.

"You really want to take a day off? Voluntarily?"

"Don't look so surprised, Michael..." Devon grinned. "I'm not ALWAYS the old fogie you think I am, and besides, us 'old guys' can be cool, too!" he added, turning back to Carolyn and Daniel and giving the seaman a wink. "However, I really must insist that **both** of you sign your book. I bought a copy of it today at the festival. Your first, I believe, Carolyn? _Memoirs of a Sea Captain."_

"Absolutely," they both nodded.

"Thank you," Devon replied. "Michael, why do you keep staring at me?"

"I don't think you are an old fogie, Devon, but... Well, I guess, I did, but, WOW, this blows my mind! That and you having what sounds like an awesome adventure without KITT and me."

"We'll have a great time," Sean grinned, talking Molly's hand. "We do have more songs you didn't get to hear, Devon, and it should be a great day, with Jon home and this double-trouble cleared up."

"Unless Callahan the Fourth makes an unscheduled visit! Three of you would be WAY too confusing!" Tris put in, and, at the very thought, the front yard of Gull Cottage was filled with laughter...


End file.
